The Edge Territories
by fawfulfan
Summary: Mark and Courtney have discovered undelivered journals from a very strange territory! What transpired during this forgotten chapter of the war for Halla?
1. Journal 38, Part 1: First Edge

JOURNAL #38

FIRST EDGE

Yeah, you read it right. I'm on a new territory. First Edge. I assume that means this is another world with more than one turning point. Is there a Second Edge and a Third Edge? Or just a Second Edge? Or a Fourth Edge or a Fifth Edge or an Eleventeenth Edge? Or is the future of this world called something else, like how Ibara was Veelox three centuries in the future?

Even stranger, why does this territory even exist? From what I've heard throughout my adventures, there are only ten territories and seven worlds in Halla. Unless all this leaping through time and space has messed up my ability to count, I've already seen all of them. That means that this is the eleventh territory, and the eighth world. And if this is _First_ Edge, there must be even more unexplored territories somewhere down the road.

But these broad questions about Halla don't seem to matter right now, after everything that's happened to me since I first set foot on this territory. As always, I need to find the turning point, find Saint Dane, and find out how he plans to monkey around with this world. And I really, _really_ want to beat him this time. More than usual, even. That's because I've seen a lot of poverty and strife and violence here, and whatever Saint Dane is cooking up is the absolute last thing the inhabitants of First Edge need.

But let's back up. I need to start from the beginning…

After I left your place, Mark, I headed for the Sherwood house. My vacation was over. Man, am I glad that time between the territories isn't relative, because I desperately needed those few days with you two. I wonder…does this whole scrambled time thing mean that Saint Dane can take breaks too? Does he ever need to wind down after he loses a territory? Or celebrate after he wins one? Somehow I don't think so, but it's still kind of funny to imagine Saint Dane relaxing on a beach, sunning that pale-ass skin. Or as funny as anything involving a demon bent on the destruction of all humanity can be.

I didn't know where I was going to go, but I knew that I was going to find out pretty quickly. As you guys know, Saint Dane never sneaks off to a territory. He always lets me know where he's going. I didn't understand this at first, because it would obviously be a lot easier for him to send the territories spiraling into chaos if he gave me the slip. Since then, though, I've realized that his plans aren't just about toppling the territories. He wants to beat the Travelers straight up, fair and square. After all, if he wants to prove that Halla would be better off with him controlling its destiny, he's gotta prove it to someone, right?

Once I reached the flume, however, I couldn't help wondering if maybe Saint Dane had indeed chosen to slip off undetected after all. There was no hint, no clue. I stood there, hoping that he would arrive on Second Earth so the chase could begin. How twisted is that? But he didn't come. Neither did any of the other Travelers. I was just standing there stupidly, looking into the mouth of the tunnel to everywhere, at a loss for what to do next.

In the end, my answer didn't come from the flume. It came from the ring on my fourth finger.

All of a sudden, the ring grew hot. It didn't twitch. This wasn't a familiar sensation. I had never felt anything like it before. I yanked the ring off before it fried my finger and threw it on the floor, as I always did. But the ring didn't expand. It spun. It was gathering speed, becoming a blur. I stepped back uncertainly. You guys described something like this before, Mark and Courtney. You said that your ring did this when the flume in the Sherwood house was created. What was next? Was the ring going to fire a laser beam, like yours did on that particular occasion?

As it turned out, it didn't. Instead, it glowed white. There was a flash, and then everything fell still. I cautiously approached, and picked up the ring again. Nothing seemed to have happened. But then I noticed something strange. The odd symbols carved in a circle around the stone in the ring had changed. They had shifted around, and it looked like there were more of them than there had been. I couldn't even begin to guess what that meant…especially considering that before I had time to think, the ring twitched to life again.

One of the symbols was glowing. This symbol definitely hadn't been on the ring before. I dropped the ring again, and it began to expand. The jumble of sweet musical notes started up. After the fireworks were over, a scroll was lying next to the ring.

I picked up the ring, and uncertainly put it back on my finger, then unfurled the scroll. Written on it were a few hastily scribbled sentences:

"_Our world's significance in Halla has changed. We matter more to Saint Dane than we could ever have imagined. Come to First Edge immediately._

_-Cloud Wolf"_

My head was spinning. None of this made any sense. What was this First Edge place? An eleventh territory? Who was this Cloud Wolf person that knew about Halla and the Travelers? And what did he mean that his world's significance has changed? Did that mean that Saint Dane originally had no plans to target this territory, but changed his mind? That idea opened up a whole new mess of possibilities. Could there be more to Halla than just what Saint Dane was targeting? Maybe it was simply that by conquering the seven familiar worlds, Saint Dane would grow strong enough to seize the rest without bothering to sway their turning points.

That thought actually gave me confidence. If Saint Dane was deciding to target places that he originally didn't care about, that meant he was getting desperate. The turning points of eight territories have passed. He won Veelox and Quillan, and I suppose you could call Ibara a stalemate, but the Travelers thwarted his plans on every other territory. This is not to say that we're beating him…lately it's become clear that his goals are much more complicated than derailing the natural destiny of each individual territory. I think he's got more going for him than we realize. But still, from where I was standing, this looked like an act of desperation to me. I'm sure there are loads more pieces of the puzzle. But hey, I can hope, can't I?

There was only one thing to do. I took a deep breath, and called out, "_First Edge!_"

The flume twisted and writhed, the gray walls melting into crystal, as the musical notes grew louder and the pin spot of light appeared in the distance. Soon, I was pulled into the flume, headed on my way to an unfamiliar territory.


	2. Journal 38, Part 2: First Edge

JOURNAL #38  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

I think one of the things I'm most afraid of is the unknown. Okay, I fear Saint Dane a lot more, but the unknown is still up there.

I guess a lot of people with normal lives fear the unknown too, but it's not such a big deal for them. People tend to expect things to be worse than they are. I guess that's some kind of primal instinct from when we lived in a state of nature or something. But usually things turn out to not be as bad as we think they're going to be.

That's not the case with me. Things are always stranger and nastier than I could ever have imagined. So it shouldn't be a surprise to think that I'm never more anxious when fluming across time and space, than when I'm on my way to a new territory.

This time was no exception. What would First Edge be like? Would it be harmonious and idyllic, like Cloral, or falling apart from the get-go, like Quillan? Would the people there be similar to the people on my home territory, like Veelox, or would there be a completely different intelligent species, like Eelong? Would society still be in the dark ages, like Denduron, or advanced beyond my comprehension, like Third Earth? Or would it be completely unlike anywhere I had ever seen?

Thinking about all this just made it clear how unique each territory was, and how important it was that they keep to their own destinies. And the jumbled, ghostly images in the starfield beyond the crystal walls of the flume made it equally clear that Saint Dane wanted to tear down these boundaries. I'm sad to say that not everything I've done as a Traveler has been in the best interests of preserving the territories' natural destinies. Sometimes I've been so fixated on stopping Saint Dane that I've recklessly mixed elements from different territories in the hope of catching him by surprise. But I've done quite the contrary…stooping to his level was precisely what he wanted me to do. And though it helped us win a couple of battles that would otherwise have been hopeless, I have the distinct feeling that he didn't care about winning those individual territories. I think he sacrificed them for the sake of his grander scheme, which has been working exactly according to plan. I know, scary thought, right?

Soon, the musical notes grew louder, which meant I would arrive on First Edge in a few seconds. Above the sweet, jumbled tune, I heard something. A gurgle of rushing water. Was the flume on First Edge going to drop me into a pool of water, like the flume on Cloral? Or was the flume going to _be_ a pool of water, like on Ibara? I didn't want to start off this mission with a stinging belly-flop or a noseful of water. To be safe, I held my breath, curled up into a cannonball dive, and closed my eyes just as I was spat from the mouth of the flume.

There was a splash…and a smack. I landed in water, all right, but it was only about a foot deep. I landed hard on my butt. Yow, that was painful!

I got to my feet, trying to ignore the soreness, and opened my eyes. It was dark. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust.

The water I was standing in was slowly flowing forward. It was a steady flow, but not so strong as to pull me along for the ride. Was I standing in some kind of babbling brook in a forest at night?

I soon realized that I was in a man-made tunnel. It was too smooth and round to be natural. The walls seemed to be made of stone. Perhaps it was a primitive pipe of some kind.

I took a deep breath…and nearly gagged. The stench in this tunnel was disgusting. It smelled like a blocked toilet in here. Great. Getting back off this territory was going to be a real treat. I pulled the neck of my shirt up over my nose, which kept out at least some of the rank odor. I knew this was only a short-term solution; I would have to get out of my Second Earth clothes once I located the pile of First Edge garments left here by the acolytes. I hoped the change of clothes wouldn't smell, but if they were left down here in this disgusting tunnel somewhere, I wasn't counting on it.

I turned around. A few yards away, the walls of the tunnel turned smoothly into the gray rock of the flume. The water was flowing out of the flume, and stretched back off into the blackness of the tunnel. I had never seen a stream of water coming from within a flume before. But then again, whenever I arrived on a new territory I saw lots of things I had never seen before.

I looked back ahead, and saw an opening far ahead of me. It looked like this tunnel opened out into a much larger chamber. There seemed to be a gurgling, splashing sound coming from it. It looked a tad brighter than this tunnel, but there was still very little light down here, natural or artificial. Down here. Where _was_ "down here", exactly? All I knew about this place so far was that it was dark, wet, and smelly. I've mentioned how bad it smelled, right?

I headed for the mouth of the tunnel, splashing through the water. I had to see more of this place, whether I liked it or not. More important, I also had to make a mental note of what the gate on First Edge looked like, so I could find my way back here when it was time to leave for another territory. Hopefully one that didn't smell this bad.

I emerged from the mouth of the tunnel…and suddenly I was falling! Before I had time to yell, I splashed down into some more water.

I already told you how bad the flume gate smelled. Well, that was nothing compared to how disgusting it was here.

This water was deep. And dark. And murky. It was also warm and fetid. I broke the surface of the water, vigorously expelling a mouthful of it. I had to get out of this stuff immediately. I frantically looked for something dry, and saw a small stone platform. A second later, I leaped up onto it, dripping with the filthy water. I was seriously grossed out. This stuff smelled like waste…which was exactly what it turned out to be. Once I got a good look at my surroundings, I knew what this place was.

A sewer.

I felt like puking, but I resisted. I had to get my head on straight, and think clearly.

This sewer was enormous. You could have fit ten of my old house into this one chamber…and I guessed this was only a tiny section of the entire network of sewer tunnels. All around the wall, at all different elevations, were pipes and tunnels of all shapes and sizes, most of them spewing more rank water. The pool I had fallen into was actually a huge underground canal that snaked off into the darkness in both directions. Here and there, pieces of trash were floating in the waste. I couldn't tell what any of it had once been. There were also the bloated corpses of what looked like enormous black-and-white spotted rats. Some of them were the size of dogs. That was freaky on a whole lot of levels.

Looking up, I caught sight of the tunnel I had fallen out of. I squinted at the wall surrounding it and, sure enough, scratched onto a smaller pipe that crossed over the tunnel was the familiar five-pointed star symbol that marked all the gates.

This flume was well hidden. Not only was that tunnel one of many hundreds, or possibly thousands, but it was in a place so unpleasant that no one would ever stumble across it accidentally. Plus, it would be almost impossible to climb up into it from below. That was worrisome. I didn't know how I was going to get back into it when I was done here. I put that out of my mind for now; at least I would be able to find it again.

It was then that I became aware that there was something else on the little platform I was crouched on. There was a pile of clothing there. I breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was I going to be able to blend into the territory, I was also going to get out of my sewer-water-drenched Second Earth clothes.

The clothes weren't exactly rags, but by my standards they were pretty low-quality. The shirt was gray and scratchy and looked like it was halfway between a t-shirt and a tank top. The neck was wide and revealed a lot of skin, and there were no sleeves. The pants were black, and full of patches. Underneath them was a pair of dirty, worn, black boots. There was underwear, too. It looked like a pair of boxer shorts, but slightly longer. It also looked just as scratchy as all the other clothing.

Normally, I kept my boxer shorts when I was assuming the clothes of another territory. It was technically against the Traveler rules, but nobody saw them anyway, and they kept me comfortable. The way I saw it, if I was dooming all of existence by bringing my boxer shorts to other territories, Halla needed way more help than I was capable of offering. But my boxers were just as soaked as all the rest of my clothing, so there was no way I was keeping them on now. As rough and uncomfortable as these First Edge clothes were, it was a relief to get into them.

Already, I was starting to make guesses about the society on this territory. They were certainly advanced enough to create a huge underground sewage system…and the fact that they needed a sewage system in the first place also meant that there would be a bustling city overhead. But judging from this clothing, and from the fact that most of what I was seeing was made of stone or wood, this place wasn't as advanced as Second Earth.

Now I just needed to get out of the sewer.

I looked around. There was a small boat tied to the platform I was standing on. A pair of basic wooden oars was also lying inside it. I slowly stepped in, not wanting any of the foul sewer water to splash inside. Then, I picked up the oars and started to row. I didn't know what I was looking for, but there had to be some way out.

After maybe thirty minutes of wandering along the central canal, I found what looked like a small dock. A wide, dry tunnel was built into the wall right behind it. I tied off the boat, got out, and walked into the tunnel.

It took me all of two minutes to realize that I was absolutely, totally lost.

Fortunately, it didn't smell as bad in here as in the huge canal tunnel, but it was just as dark as the flume gate, and there were all kinds of forks and intersections and staircases. I didn't have the faintest clue where I was going. Every now and then, I saw an open storm drain overhead. Sunlight streamed in from these holes, and I could hear a lot of noise and activity coming from them. It sounded like I was underneath a busy city street. But they were too far above my head to reach, and I had no means of climbing up to them. I was starting to get frantic. What could be worse than being lost in a dark maze of sewer tunnels?

Yeah, dumb question. Things can always get worse.

I saw a flash of movement to my left. I looked down at my feet. I had long since gotten used to the darkness, so I could see pretty well down here. At first, I thought it was one of those gigantic rats. I leapt backwards in disgust. But then I realized that it was too small, and it was a different shape. It looked like a living ball of fluff, maybe the size of a football, scampering around at my feet. It was actually kind of cute, but I didn't let my guard down. I continued to back away cautiously.

Suddenly, it was joined by another creature just like it. And another. And another. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. They didn't look very dangerous, but the more of them there were, the more sinister they seemed.

Suddenly, one of them lunged forward, leapt into the air…and split in half to reveal an enormous mouth full of vicious fangs! It looked a little like Pac-Man…a fluffy, razor-toothed, _evil_ Pac-Man.

A second later its jaws clamped down on my arm. Yeow! Those teeth were _sharp_! I yelled in surprise and pain, and shook my arm frantically. It went spinning away into the darkness, but there were now dozens and dozens of the little creeps, and they were slowly advancing on me. It could not have been clearer that they were ravenously hungry, and Bobby Pendragon was on the menu.

I turned and sprinted away as fast as I could along the tunnel. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that they were surging after me with surprising speed, squeaking and squealing, a massive wall of fanged fluffballs.

And there was something else. As I passed under another one of the open manholes, I looked back at the charging pack of beasts. The hole in the ceiling bathed them in light for a second, and I saw that they had bright yellow eyes.

Quigs.


	3. Journal 38, Part 3: First Edge

JOURNAL #38  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

I was definitely on the right territory. Saint Dane only sends quigs to guard the flumes as a warning to the Travelers. The quigs are always nasty and eager to tear us limb from limb, but I don't think Saint Dane actually wants them to kill us. I think he knows we'll always find a way to escape them. It's more about giving us a not-so-warm welcome to wherever the action is. But at the rate things were going, I'd be quig chow before I even set foot aboveground.

The quigs were gaining on me. I would never have guessed it to look at them, but they were fast. The only thing in my advantage was that they had a hard time turning as a group. Whenever I could, I turned left or right along the tunnels. At first, I thought I was going to escape, but soon I realized that that wouldn't be happening. There were still lots of straight sections in the tunnels, and every time I ran through one, the ferocious pack of quigs got closer and closer. Soon they would be snapping at my heels. I had to come up with something fast or I'd be munched.

It was then that I saw my salvation. Hanging from a manhole up ahead was a length of rope. I guess it was recently used by somebody to get in or out for some reason. Now, it was going to save my life.

I had a flashback to the quig pens in the Bedoowan castle on Denduron. There had been a rope ladder inside that place which provided a handy escape route for any Bedoowan knights who attracted the attention of one of the prehistoric spine-covered quig-bears on that territory. It had saved my butt back then, not to mention Loor's and Uncle Press's. I prayed that this rope was going to serve me just as well.

I leapt into the air, grabbed the rope, and began to climb up. The quigs squealed with rage and hopped up and down, but they didn't seem to be able to climb. I was saved! I gave the horrible little creatures a smug smile and a wink, then climbed up and out, into the sunlight, ready to get my first real look at the territory.

The instant I got out of the sewer, I was overwhelmed with noise and energy and activity…and shocking strangeness. I don't even know where to begin my description of the place I found myself in, but I'll make an effort.

I had been correct. This was an enormous, thronging city. But it wasn't a modern city. Most everything up here was made out of stone and wood, just like in the sewer. Some things looked like they were made of metal, but when I looked closer I saw that they had wood grain, too. And the streets were packed. I was jostled this way and that by all manner of individuals walking briskly this way and that. I saw giant carts full of all kinds of unfamiliar materials, pulled by strange, shaggy creatures with magnificent, curling horns. I saw all manner of shops and stalls, the vendors shouting out their wares and prices. I was battered by sounds from all sides—talking, arguing, pleading, shouting, transactions—and there were all kinds of smells, too. There were some food smells, the smell of wood shavings and tanning leather, a sickly sweet chemical aroma that might have been some kind of pollution, and underneath it all, the stench of dirt, sweat, and B.O. Not very pleasant, but much better than the smell of the sewer, so I wasn't complaining.

Through all this, the skyline of the city itself was also stunning. The buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. Though their design was pretty crude, some of them were really tall. Loads of them looked shabby and run-down. It seemed as though the majority of the people who lived here weren't very well off. A few miles away, there was an enormous, broad river snaking through the city. Further off than that, I could see a mass of factories and forges belching smoke into the sky, which was cloudless but full of a brownish haze. In another direction, I could see a collection of magnificent palaces. That had to be the wealthy neighborhood of this metropolis. It vaguely reminded me of paintings I'd seen of Victorian London.

All this stuff was kind of odd, but there were also three major traits about this city that were downright surreal.

The first thing was the people. Several of them looked very much like ordinary people…if you dressed them up in Second Earth clothes, they wouldn't look out of place on the streets of Stony Brook. The only thing that was strange about these particular individuals was their ears, which tapered upward to sharp points. But the majority of the people in this city were…off. They looked so different that I was wondering whether they were another race or another species. Some of them were a foot shorter than me, with lumpen heads and noses the size of bowling balls. Others were enormous and round, but carried their weight in a way that made me think that they were supposed to be that size. Still others had bright red skin and giant, spiky tufts of hair. I saw a few frail, wiry beings with massive fluttering ears, and even squat creatures with swaying eyestalks and long froglike tongues. They wore all manner of different styles of clothing, too. Again, nothing that looked as comfy and practical as something you'd see on Second Earth, but there was a ton of variety in shape, length, color, design, and so forth. A word which sprang to mind was "clans". These people looked as though they were from distinctive tribes, and despite the fact that they were all jammed here together, they still retained some of their old customs.

The second bizarre element of this city was the boats. They looked like old-timey sailing ships, with billowing sails and wooden masts and everything. But there were a few details about them that caught my eye immediately. Their hulls were split in two, connected by enormous round cages housing spherical rocks. You might think that that would make them sink, right? No, because I left out the most important thing about these old-fashioned galleons. They were sailing through the air. That's right, they were flying. The people on First Edge somehow constructed flying boats! But they turned and swayed just like they were in water. Below the hulls were a bunch of big weights and cables that I assumed kept the ships steady in the air. And the ships were all shapes and sizes, too…some were little hovering barges, others were mighty, bulky cargo ships, and a couple of them were thin, elegant, and sleek.

But I've saved the most spectacular detail about this city for last. A huge section of the buildings in the distance were cast into shadow by what seemed to be an enormous floating rock. Yep, an enormous floating rock. That thing had to be the size of Boston! And it was floating in the air! It made the tremendous floating habitat barges of Cloral looked like little paper sailboats. I was so shocked that I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, unable to take my eyes off this impossible levitating boulder. It was secured to the ground by several vast chains extending from the bottom of the rock to the city below. Furthermore, when I looked up at the top of the rock, I could make out the shapes of more buildings. This giant floating rock had another city built on top of it! And this city looked very different. It was composed of elegant towers and viaducts and walkways. Maybe the king of First Edge lived up there in that swanky collection of palaces, passing his judgment on the common people from above.

"Oi, move it! Coming through!" yelled a gruff voice.

I started and turned around, then jumped aside to clear the way for a huge, burly guy covered in hair, who was pushing a wheelbarrow full of tools. I backed away…and rammed into someone else.

"What in Open Sky do you think you're doing?" roared another voice.

I spun around, and my eyes widened in shock. The man who was standing in front of me looked like the absolute last kind of guy you wanted to annoy.

To begin with, he was big. He looked partly flabby and partly muscular. He was dressed in a flamboyant robe covered in elaborate designs and emblazoned with some kind of logo. But my eyes were immediately drawn to the enormous hat on his head. It looked almost half his height! It was so tall that there was a guy walking behind him, propping it up with a weird pole to prevent it from collapsing. There was someone else with him, too. It was a big, upright bird creature with bright yellow plumage and fancy armor. It had a vicious beak and talons that looked like it could slice me into ribbons in a heartbeat. And its bulging, angry eyes were trained on me. Gulp.

"You impudent whelp!" bellowed the large man. "I'll teach you to show some respect!"

He clenched his fists. Or half-clenched them, anyway. He couldn't fully clench them, because attached to each of his fingers was a sharp, silver spike. It looked just as dangerous as the bird thing's talons.

Then, he lifted his cane off the ground, and pulled on it, revealing a sword! This guy was clearly some sort of big shot, and didn't suffer minor annoyances graciously. There was only one sensible thing to do.

I ran.


	4. Journal 38, Part 4: First Edge

JOURNAL #38  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

I hadn't yet spent an hour on First Edge, and already I had been forced to run for my life twice. What a pleasant territory.

The man gave chase. He was yelling and waving his sword-cane and swearing and cursing and calling me things I've never heard of before. However, I soon realized that I was a much better runner. He was puffing and panting and generally failing to keep pace. I relaxed. I figured I was out of danger.

I was wrong.

"Catch him, Sister Bloodbeak!" I heard him yell. I realized he was talking to the bird creature. "He won't get far!" she squawked derisively. Yep, this bird could talk. It should have surprised me, but with all the strange things I've seen since landing on First Edge, I was too overwhelmed to feel any more shock.

I looked back over my shoulder, and saw that Sister Bloodbeak was a lot more athletic. She was gaining. Worse, she was waving around a hideous-looking spiked flail. Perfect for shattering skulls. Time to be somewhere else.

I tore down the avenue, elbowing people out of the way. Many of them were shouting indignantly, but I didn't care. I had to make sure that Big Bird's evil cousin didn't get hold of me, or I'd be torn to shreds.

I entered a new district of the town. There were a bunch of jetties on my right where lots of the impossible flying ships were docked. Here and there were big wooden poles covered in fliers stating the departure times and destinations of various ships. I guessed it was some kind of harbor. Or airport. Or whatever.

A backward glance confirmed that Sister Bloodbeak was still chasing me. She looked closer than ever. She also looked demonic. I think flecks of bile were flying from her beak. How gross is that?

There was nothing else for it. I would have to try to hide on one of the boats. Of course, that could get me into whole lot more trouble, but what choice did I have?

"Hey! You! Get on!"

I looked up to see a figure standing on the deck of a particularly sleek, elegant, double-masted ship, waving in my direction.

Was he talking to me? I didn't care. This guy was officially my favorite person on First Edge. I changed direction and tore down the jetty, leaping onto the ship. "All aboard," shouted the captain. "Take to your posts."

The crew of the ship sprang into action. I looked back at the jetty nervously. Sister Bloodbeak was halfway to the ship. Suddenly, a hooded figure standing on a platform above the giant rock of this ship waved to the captain.

"Unhitch the tolley-ropes," the captain yelled. "Raise the mainsail. Steady on the boom."

The ship rose up into the air. Sister Bloodbeak stopped dead. It was too late for her. She waved her flail and screeched in rage, but there was nothing she could do.

I walked across the deck of the strange, flying ship and climbed up the stairs of the aftcastle at the back, joining the captain at the helm.

"Thank you," I said. "You saved me."

The captain turned, and I got a good look at him. The first thing that struck me was that he was young. He actually looked a year or two younger than me. He had a pointed chin, high cheekbones, bright green eyes, and a mass of black hair that was twisted up into several small tufts. He was dressed like some kind of cross between a Disney pirate and a World War I flying ace. He had a deep blue coat and black armor, under which he was wearing a strange coat of some brown, furry material, large goggles, a cutlass at his belt, and an odd contraption on his back that looked like a folded-up pair of wings. He looked tough, but not like the man who threatened me. This kind of toughness looked more, I don't know…valiant.

"Hey, any enemy of a leaguesman's shryke bodyguard is a friend of mine." he laughed, holding out his hand. "My name is Twig. Captain Twig of the _Edgedancer_." He swept his arm around, indicating the flying ship they were standing on. "The most beautiful sky ship ever to take to the air."

"I'm Bobby Pendragon." I said.

"Might I ask what you did to get in all that trouble?" asked Twig.

"I just bumped into a big man with a ridiculous tall hat."

Twig laughed. "Yeah, you don't want to cross those high-hat leaguesmasters. No matter how powerful you are, there's always a leaguesman who can make you suffer…as Vilnix Pompolnius recently learned to his cost."

"Who?"

Twig looked confused. "Sky Above, have you been living under a rock? All of Undertown has been talking about it! The Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax was just assassinated by the Leagues! I suppose it was inevitable…his whole regime was based on corruption and lies. It's just lucky that the Raintasters' fell from power before their meddling with the stormphrax supplies doomed the great floating city."

A crewmember, one of those red, spiky-haired dudes, cut in, "It was Cap'n Twig himself who saved the twin cities. He brought stormphrax back, and restored the equilibrium."

It seemed as though First Edge was a busy territory with complex politics. The trouble was, I didn't understand any of what I was hearing. But on the other hand, it sounded like this captain was heavily involved in key events playing out on First Edge. The thought crossed my mind that he might be Saint Dane. I would have to be careful.

"Okay, back up," I said. "What are the Leagues?"

"You're joking, right?" said the red guy.

"I doubt it, Tarp," said Twig. "He's probably a new arrival to Undertown, fresh from his distant Deepwoods home. He won't know anything about life beyond his village."

This was working out well. Captain Twig had just conjured up his own explanation for my ignorance. It was the perfect opportunity to ask questions about First Edge without sounding like an alien being…which is exactly what I was.

Twig turned back to me. "You've probably heard lots of wonderful stories about this place," he said, pointing down at the city below. "In the Deepwoods, they say that Undertown is a place of riches and opportunity and freedom, where nobody is a slave and the streets are paved with gold. It's true that Undertown is officially a slave-free city, but a lot of people here are little better off than slaves. The only way to survive is work. And most all the work is overseen by the United Leagues of Undertown. They control all commerce in the city."

I was reminded of Blok, the giant corporation that held all the power on the territory of Quillan. The Trustees who ran Blok were so powerful that they could do whatever they wanted. From what I had seen so far, it was looking like the head honchos in the Leagues had the same kind of total authority.

"The only people in Undertown who really live in luxury are the high-hat leaguesmasters, like that one you angered. They're just as bad as slave drivers, and they know how to hold a grudge. If you cross a leaguesmaster, you're dead. They've got shryke bodyguards and waif assassins and all sorts of sinister characters working for them. They would control the skies, too, if not for sky pirates like us. We keep the Edge open for free trade."

Sky pirates. Another new twist in this territory. I haven't had great experiences with piracy. On Cloral, the Raider pirates were merciless killers that Saint Dane easily persuaded to attack the lost city of Faar. On Ibara, the Jakills committed piracy in their quest to discover what lay beyond their secluded island. Most of them died during the course of that journey. None of the pirates I had encountered throughout Halla had been anything like romanticized yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum pirates. Until now. I was starting to like this bunch, especially considering that they were serving as my guides to the territory.

"You said something about a place called Sanctaphrax." I said. "How does that play into all of this?"

Twig pointed up at the giant floating rock suspended above Undertown. "The floating city of Sanctaphrax is the foremost seat of learning in all the Edge. It is populated by academics who study all aspects of the weather. Without their knowledge, Undertown could not exist."

"They just study the weather? What about other things?"

Twig laughed bitterly. "No other field of study is fashionable. They cast out the earth-scholars long ago. Don't be fooled by how respectable and bookish the place looks…Sanctaphrax is just as contentious as Undertown. They've got more rumors and plots and intrigue and faction-fighting than there are trees in the Deepwoods."

"What about that Most High Academe dude you mentioned?"

"He's an elected official who runs everything in Sanctaphrax. Of course, the High Academe is supposed to be an impartial overseer of the pursuit of knowledge, but it hasn't always worked out that way. The previous Most High Academe, Vilnix Pompolnius, nearly destroyed Sanctaphrax for the sake of lining his own pockets."

"How?"

"The floating rock of Sanctaphrax is getting more buoyant all the time, Pendragon. To prevent it from tearing free of its moorings, the academics weight it down with a chest of stormphrax placed in the Treasury Chamber in the center of the rock."

"Stormphrax?"

"Crystals of solid lightning. When in daylight, stormphrax is volatile and can turn into pure energy if handled roughly. But in absolute darkness a thimbleful weighs more than a thousand ironwood pines. We keep it in darkness, and it anchors down Sanctaphrax."

"But what does this have to do with the Most High Academe?"

"Stormphrax has another use. When in a perfect twilight glow, it may be safely ground up into a substance called phraxdust, which can instantly purify the filthiest water. You've already seen how dirty Undertown is…it is vital to ensure a healthy water market."

"So the Most High Academe took stormphrax from the treasury to make phraxdust, and endangered Sanctaphrax in the process."

"Exactly," said Twig. "He supplied the Leagues of Undertown with phraxdust, and they in turn manufactured additional chains to anchor down Sanctaphrax and compensate for the loss of equilibrium. But the chain production made the Undertown foundries run at maximum output, polluting the Edgewater River more and more, and necessitating additional phraxdust."

"That is…messed up," I said.

Twig laughed. "That's one way of putting it. Sanctaphrax nearly tore free of its moorings and sailed off into Open Sky forever."

"So how did it all get resolved?"

"My father, Cloud Wolf, embarked on a stormchasing voyage to the Twilight Woods in search of fresh stormphrax. The crew and I abandoned ship, and I haven't heard from him since. But I managed to return with stormphrax and complete the quest."

Cloud Wolf. I had heard that name somewhere before. But I couldn't think where.

"Anyway, when Sanctaphrax was back in balance, Vilnix Pompolnius was in trouble. He had no reason for chains, and he also had run out of phraxdust to supply the leaguesmen. Then the academics turned against him for endangering their existence. He tried to run for it, but the Leagues caught up with him and he was assassinated. I saw it happen."

I had a feeling that this explanation barely scratched the surface of what was going on in this territory.

"Anyway, I got this new ship and this crew, courtesy of that greedy old shryke Mother Horsefeather, who runs the Bloodoak Tavern. I promised her the secret of safe phraxdust production in return. She thinks she's going to dominate the water market. But she's in for a big surprise. Oh, speak of the gloamglozer…there she is now!"

This sky ship, the _Edgedancer_, was passing over a seedy little tavern. Standing next to its door, looking up at them, was another one of the bird things. This one was squat, with red plumage.

"Tarp," Twig said, "Spooler. Start emptying the sacks."

"Aye aye, captain!" came the reply. At once, hundreds of envelopes fell from the ship like rain. They fluttered down to the streets below, where the citizens of Undertown picked them up and slit them open curiously.

"Begging your pardon, cap'n," said the red dude, Tarp, "But what exactly are we doing?"

"We are ending a monopoly," replied Twig with a smile.

"Cap'n?"

"Each envelope contains a crystal of stormphrax and instructions for the safe production of phraxdust. It was the only way I could make sure that _everyone _would have access to pure, clean water once again."

"Oh, I like that, cap'n," said Tarp excitedly. "I like that a lot. That's fair, that is. My brother, Tendon, would most definitely have approved."

"Which is more than can be said for Mother Horsefeather," commented a skinny crewmember with a pinched, pointed face and large round glasses. "She looks fit to explode."

He was right. The squat bird-creature was hopping up and down in fury, shaking her fist and bellowing words I couldn't hear. Twig merely smiled and waved at her. "It was high time for that avaricious bird-woman to get her comeuppance. She's ruled the Undertown roost for far too long. How are the sacks coming along?"

"Nearly done, captain," said a small individual with giant, round eyes.

Oh yeah, these were definitely the good guys. It sounded like they had just saved the territory from chaos. Could it be that this had been the turning point, and Saint Dane was too late to sway it? I didn't believe that for a second. There had to be something bigger coming. There always was.

Suddenly, there came a sound of giant wings beating. Something big was heading for the _Edgedancer_. A moment later, I saw, perched on the balustrade of the ship, the largest bird I had ever seen. It looked as big as an elephant! It was black and white, with a bony horn on its head and a long black beard of feathers at the base of its beak.

"You!" exclaimed Twig.

"Indeed," said the bird.

This bird could talk too? Okay, what the hell was up with this territory?

"Are you all right, cap'n?" said Tarp, raising his crossbow. "Or should I sink an arrow in the creature's scraggy neck now?"

"Avast!" Twig bellowed. "All weapons down."

"A fine welcome, Master Twig," said the bird sniffily, as Tarp lowered the bow. "Yet perhaps it is in order, for I bring bad news."

"News? What news?" said Twig hesitantly.

"It is Cloud Wolf. Your father is in grave danger."

Man, why did that name sound so familiar?

"Danger?" said Twig.

"The Great Storm never released him from its terrible grip. When I last saw him, he was being carried off. I followed him as far as I dared…"

"Where to?"

"Far from here. Too far."

"Not…"

"Over the Edge, Twig," the bird said. "Farther than anyone has ever been before, deep deep into uncharted sky."

Twig looked seriously frightened now. But I saw a look of determination form on his face. "I must try to rescue him."

"It will be a perilous undertaking, Master Twig…"

"_Captain_ Twig," Twig corrected. "And there are no perils great enough to keep me away. The _Edgedancer_ is ready. The crew is ready. And so am I."

"Then we will set forth at once." the bird replied.

Twig looked surprised. "We? Do you intend to travel with us?"

"You were at my hatching. I am bound to watch over you—always. Sometimes I wish it were not so…but enough of this. We must make haste. Find a rope. Tether one end to the bowsprit, the other round my belly. I will track your father across Open Sky. It will mean flying further than even I have flown before—but I will lead you to him. Sky willing we will not be too late."

"Sky willing," said Twig. Then he turned to look at me. "But we cannot leave immediately. First we've got to drop off Pendragon back in Undertown."

"No," I said firmly. "I'm coming with you."

I didn't know what dangers I would have to face with the sky pirates out in Open Sky, wherever the heck _that_ was. But they were the only friendly faces I had met since arriving on First Edge. And besides, I had a very strong feeling that the best way to discover Saint Dane's plans for this territory was to fall in with this band of lovable outlaws. Maybe this intuition was some kind of Traveler power.

Twig looked very surprised. "You want to come with us?"

I nodded.

Twig stared for a second, and then said "You really don't understand anything, do you, Pendragon?"

"Nothing at all."

"Open Sky is a place of terror. It is home to deadly storms and sentient weather, not to mention horrifying beasts of the air…cloudeaters and sky-dragons and mistwraiths. I'm going because I have to try to rescue my father. My crew is going because they are loyal to me and my plight. The Caterbird is going because he is sworn to watch over me. But you have no stake in this. Why would you willingly come with us?"

That was tough to answer. I didn't want to get into Halla and the Travelers and Saint Dane with this young sky pirate captain. I decided to answer in the vaguest way I could.

"I just have a very strong feeling that this is right. I'm looking for fundamental truths about the Edge, and I can't help but feel that I will find them wherever you're going."

Twig now looked utterly bewildered. Until this moment, I had come across to him as some kind of ignorant hick from the forest, but here I was, acting all philosophical. Would he buy my explanation?

Finally, he turned and called out, "Woodfish, come here. Have a look at Pendragon's mind. Do you think we should allow him to come?"

A little, scaly, green individual with webbed hands and feet and whiskery barbells on his mouth walked up and stared at me. What the heck did Twig mean, "have a look at Pendragon's mind"?

A split second later, I got my answer.

This little guy was reading my mind! I could feel his consciousness probing me, like fingers sifting through my thoughts. Man, it was creepy. But I didn't resist.

Finally, the sensation stopped, as Woodfish turned away to look at Twig. "Pendragon's mind is tough to read," he said in a sibilant hiss of a voice. "He was not lying when he said he is searching for fundamental truths. But he is…hiding something. He knows a lot more than he is letting on. But not because he wants to deceive us. It's more like he wants to…protect us from the knowledge of a larger reality."

"What larger reality?" frowned Twig.

"I can't really tell. It's tremendously complicated. I can only understand it in an abstract sense," said Woodfish, his barbells quivering. He paused, and said, "I don't hate the idea of having him around, captain. His heart is good, and he is dedicated to the pursuit of justice. And he is brave and strong, too. As long as he can handle a crash course in skysailing, he will make a fine addition to our crew."

Addition to their crew? Did he mean I would become a sky pirate?

Twig smiled. "Welcome aboard, Bobby Pendragon. I daresay we'll find a use for you soon enough. Now, we've wasted enough time already. Caterbird, is the tether secure?"

"All set." The Caterbird took off from the balustrade and began to fly. Twig's fingers danced up and down a set of bone-handled levers at the helm, and the _Edgedancer_ shot away. I looked down, and saw that we had sailed over a lip of rock. Below it, I could see nothing but sky.

Huh? Was this some kind of flat world? Was the Edge actually the edge of the world? All the worlds I had visited so far had obeyed the laws of physics. This might well have been a different universe! But it couldn't be…First Edge was a territory of Halla, like any other. I had to believe there was an explanation for it. Strange as it was, however, it wasn't really important. What was important is that we had sailed beyond it! I now understood what "Open Sky" was, and why everyone feared it so much. Was there a bottom somewhere down there, out of sight? Or did it just go down forever? Either way, if this ship capsized, bye bye.

"Sky protect us," I heard Twig saying. "Sky protect us all. And Sky protect Cloud Wolf!"

The third time was the charm. I remembered where I had heard the name before. He was the one who had sent me the message when I was still on Second Earth! Did that mean that Cloud Wolf was a Traveler? And if Twig was his son…

I strode back to the helm. I noticed now that Twig had a huge collection of amulets and charms hanging around his neck, draped on top of a cloth tied around his neck that was decorated with a picture of some strange kind of tree. There were all sorts of charms, of leather and wood, and in all different shapes and colors. One of them looked like a big tooth with a hole in it. But there was one trinket strung around his neck that grabbed my attention instantly.

It was a Traveler ring.

I didn't want to bother Twig at the moment, because he was absorbed with keeping the _Edgedancer_ flying straight and smooth, but I felt a surge of excitement. I had found the Traveler from First Edge! That meant that Twig already knew everything about Halla, and it would all make sense to him once I explained to him that I was from Second Earth. Unless…

Unless his father hadn't yet told him about the Travelers.

Now that I knew Twig was the son of a Traveler, and might not know anything yet, I was almost as desperate to find his father as he himself was. If I was right that Twig knew nothing of his destiny, then it would be easier if I had Cloud Wolf with me to help explain it to him. But we had to hurry. Territories can't have more than one Traveler. As you guys know, when it is time for a new Traveler to take the place of the old Traveler, the old Traveler obliges…by dying. Since Cloud Wolf was lost in Open Sky, and since Saint Dane was here, it was looking more and more like it was time for Twig to shoulder the responsibility. I feared that the reunion between father and son would be cut short tragically…or worse, might never come at all.


	5. Journal 38, Part 5: First Edge

JOURNAL #38  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

That night, we all sat down to a great feast of roast snowbird, woodpumpkin, and blackbread. I had never heard of any of these delicacies, but I tried them and they were all very good. They offered me some foaming liquid called woodale, too. I wasn't so fond of that, though. I tried one sip and spat it out, gasping. Man, that stuff was strong! My eyes were streaming. I think there was a ton of alcohol in it or something. I had hoped the taste might turn sweet at the back of my throat, like the sniggers on Cloral, but no such luck. The sky pirates didn't seem too bothered by my dislike of the drink. In fact, there was a definite "more for us" vibe going on.

I fiddled absentmindedly with my new gear. Once Twig had taken me on, he had found me a spare set of sky pirate gear. It was bulky and hard to put on, but it was more comfortable and better looking than the scratchy Undertown clothes. I now had my own greatcoat, a worn breastplate, a set of protective goggles, a better set of pants and boots, and one of those wacky furled-up gizmos on my back. According to Twig, they were called "parawings" and would allow me to glide to safety if we had to abandon ship. Cool, aye?

On my left sat Spooler, downing his second glass of woodale. On my right was a muscular, tattooed guy with a strange, flat-topped skull, who had to have the worst table manners of anyone I had ever seen. I think he said his name was "Bogwitt", but I can't be sure because he mumbled it through such a huge mouthful of snowbird that bits of it flew everywhere when he talked.

Twig explained to me that we were currently in a pocket of static air. It was a rare chance to safely abandon the controls of the sky ship and rest. He doubted that we would see many more of these out in Open Sky, so it was important to take advantage of these breaks whenever possible.

Everyone started laughing and joking as the woodale slowly disappeared. They were all talking about their lives before joining the crew. From their conversations, I discovered that this was the _Edgedancer_'s maiden voyage. I supposed that was a good thing…a brand-new sky ship was likely to be in perfect working order. On the other hand, it had been the _Titanic_'s maiden voyage, too. I hoped that there weren't any hovering icebergs out in Open Sky.

I was still wondering how best to approach the whole Traveler thing. I was hoping desperately that Twig already knew everything, but I didn't think that would be the case. Travelers who knew the whole gig actively sought me out and lost no time in filling me in on the territory. While it was true that I had run into Twig quickly, it had been an accident, and what was more, he had been reluctant to let me come with him on this journey. If he had known about me and the Travelers, I think he would have mentioned it earlier.

This was going to be tricky.

Worse, out of sheer anxiety, I ended up choosing the most awkward way possible to bring up the subject. Halfway through dinner, I pointed at the ring hanging around Twig's neck, and blurted out, "So…you're a Traveler?"

Yeah. Smooth move, Bobby.

Twig looked confused by the question. "Of course I'm a traveler!" he said. "What kind of sky pirate doesn't travel all over the Edge?"

That settled it. Twig didn't know.

I tried a different tack. I pointed at the Traveler ring around Twig's neck and said, "Where did you get that?"

Twig touched it, and played with it thoughtfully.

"I got it from a merchant in Undertown. Strange fellow. Said his name was Press Tilton, and that this ring would be of vital importance in some kind of 'mission' or 'duty', but for the time being it would simply serve as a symbol of the truth, and of what is to come. And then he left before I could pay him for it. I didn't understand it, but the ring had something curious about it all the same, as though it contained a power that no other lucky charm in Undertown possessed. So I've held on to it ever since."

Spooler, who was sitting next to me, suddenly grabbed my arm and looked at the bite marks in it. "That looks painful," he said. "What happened to your arm?"

I was caught off guard. Before I could think up an explanation that would satisfy the sky pirates, I said, "Quigs. In the sewers."

"What is a quig?" said the wiry pinch-faced man, who I had recently learned was the ship's quartermaster, Wingnut Sleet.

I paused. I'd already been uncomfortably honest with them…why not go a little further?

"Quigs are little balls of fluff that travel in packs. They have these huge mouths full of sharp teeth."

Twig looked utterly confused. "Those are called wig-wigs, not quigs. And there are no wig-wigs in Undertown…they're found in the Deepwoods."

"You call them 'wig-wigs'?" I said blankly.

"It's a word taken from the ancient language of banderbears," said Twig. "Right, Goom?"

"Wuh-wuh." replied a massive, hairy mountain of a beast sitting next to Twig. This thing was really scary-looking. Imagine a grizzly bear. Now, imagine it five times bigger, and give it fangs about as long as the staves used by Ghee warriors on Zadaa, and you'd have a banderbear. But for all that, Goom wasn't ferocious. He was actually a noble and gentle beast, according to Twig.

I found myself thinking. Banderbears called these creatures 'wig-wigs'. Was that a corruption of the word 'quig'? I assumed so.

"But, as I said, wig-wigs only live in the Deepwoods," said Twig. "They aren't in Undertown."

"I guess they are now," I said.

Twig looked suspicious. I think he was wondering whether I was just inventing a story to cover up what really happened. But then he looked to Woodfish, who nodded. Twig relaxed. He wasn't suspicious anymore. Now he was just confused.

I, on the other hand, wasn't. Quigs could show up wherever Saint Dane wanted them to show up. He almost always put them near the flumes, but there were exceptions, like the quigs who had ripped the poor Milago miners to shreds in the stadium in the Bedoowan castle on Denduron.

I decided not to waste any more effort trying to explain about the Travelers or quigs or anything else. I knew I would have to tell Twig the full story soon, but I was still holding out hope that we might find Cloud Wolf, and he could do the explaining for me.

"To our first adventure together!" said Tarp, raising his glass of woodale. "And may the caterbird guide us quickly to the cap'n's father, and bring us all safely back to the Edge."

"To our first adventure," repeated the sky pirates.

When we finished dinner, Twig got to his feet. "Everyone get some sleep," he said. "It won't be long before we'll have to take control of the ship again, and Sky knows when our next chance to rest will be."

* * *

><p>I'm going to end this journal here, Mark and Courtney. I'm writing it from my sleeping hammock in the forehold of the <em>Edgedancer<em>. Twig gave me a big, fluffy white quill and a bunch of rough scroll-like sheets when I asked for some writing material. I think the weather's about to get hairier, which means I should send this now in case something terrible happens. I hope that in my next journal, I'll be able to write that we found Cloud Wolf and that Twig is now up to speed on the whole show.

Man, I've still got a million questions spinning around my head about this strange territory. I've learned a lot about it since I arrived, but I still don't have the answers to any of the questions that really matter. Where is Saint Dane? What's he up to? What is the turning point of First Edge, and how does he intend to push it the wrong way?

I know that I'm going to get the answers eventually. I always do. But until then, it's going to drive me insane. The good news is that I can keep myself occupied by helping a bunch of pirates sail a flying boat through a mysterious, deadly void.

The quality of good news has really gone downhill.

I miss you guys.

And so we go.

END OF JOURNAL #38


	6. Third Earth, Part 1

** ~ THIRD EARTH ~**

Mark Dimond wandered aimlessly from street to street. He brushed his long black hair out of his eyes and surveyed the shattered hulks of the buildings. No matter how many times he walked down these roads, he could not get used to seeing New York City this way. Even when he had fallen into a routine working with the anti-Ravinia resistance, he had had to tune it all out. Whenever he thought—_really_ thought—about this place, and what it all meant, it crushed him.

In the years since Bobby Pendragon had been whisked away to take up the responsibility of being a Traveler, Mark had always fantasized about the day that Saint Dane would be defeated for good. He had always imagined Bobby's triumphant return home, to Second Earth, where he would at last be able to resume the normal life that had been cruelly snatched away from him.

Never had Mark dreamed that the aftermath of the war for Halla would be like this. Not only had Bobby's spirit returned to Solara for good, but he and Courtney Chetwynde were stuck three thousand years in the future of Earth, in the midst of a society struggling to pick up the pieces of a once-great world.

Still, he knew, there was a lot to be grateful for. Ravinia was dead. Saint Dane was gone. All the people of Earth were working towards a common goal, cooperating in a way that they had never done before in the entire history of the world. And yet, Mark knew how the Earth would have been without Saint Dane's influence. He had read about the spectacular fifty-first century society in Bobby's journals, where people lived underground and treated the Earth's resources with respect.

Mark was hoping that this vision of an ideal future could inspire the people of Earth to return things to the way they were supposed to be. They had all the resources to do it, after all. Earth's environment may have been destroyed, but all biodiversity had been preserved by the Ravinians in their conclaves, preparing for the day that all impurity had been eradicated and the conclaves could be dismantled. This selfish act might well be Earth's salvation.

Without really thinking about where he was going, Mark entered a burned-out building on Fourteenth Street and picked his way through the dusty wreckage. Striding from room to room, Mark at last reached his target: an ancient elevator with dented grilles. He wrenched them apart, stepped into the dark cab, and scanned the rows of darkened, cracked buttons.

At last, his eyes alighted on the "Door Close" button. It looked just as broken and unresponsive as the others, but it had something unique. Scrawled next to it was a tiny Ravinian star with a big red slash through it. He pressed it, and with a screechy clanging, the elevator sprang to life. Buzzy fluorescent lights flickered on, dimly illuminating Mark's surroundings, as the elevator cab lurched downwards.

The ruins of New York were full of such secret places. The anti-Ravinia resistance had hidden out in underground tunnels for centuries, diverting power to them from ancient generators. It was no longer necessary to use the tunnels at all…which meant they were always deserted. They were perfect places to be alone with one's thoughts.

After a minute, the elevator banged to a stop, and the grilles slid open, revealing a narrow passageway lined with more flickering fluorescent tubes. Insulation was exposed in the ceiling, and rusted pipes protruded from the earthen walls. Mark's footsteps were muffled as he took a random path through the honeycomb of tunnels.

What was there left for him to do? How must he spend the rest of his life? The obvious answer was to continue rebuilding Earth. But would he ever live to see the fruits of his labors? And if he didn't was that something he could come to terms with?

Wait a minute…

Mark suddenly saw something that jerked him out of his troubled thoughts. It was a sheet of paper tacked to a filthy metal door leading into an abandoned steam tunnel. This paper didn't look old and rotten…it was freshly posted. But who had been down here? He peered at the words written on the paper, and the mystery deepened.

_Open when the battle is over._

But something else made Mark's heart pound even harder. He recognized the handwriting. He had seen it many, many times, scrawled upon pages sent through his old ring.

Bobby Pendragon had put this paper here.

He was tempted to open the door here and now, but knew he shouldn't. There was someone else who had to be here with him before the secret could be revealed.

"Courtney," he muttered to himself, then turned and dashed back the way he had come.

He paid no attention to his surroundings as he took the elevator trip back to the surface and dashed past people going about cleaning up the wreckage strewn everywhere. He didn't stop running until he reached the tremendous, battered hulk of the old Ravinian conclave, where everyone was sheltered. And even then, after he stepped inside the vast wall, he resumed his sprint.

The gorgeous landscape was strewn with makeshift tents and shelters for displaced citizens. Mark dashed past people hanging out clothes to dry, cooking dinner on small fires, and engaging their neighbors in deep discussion.

At last, he skidded to a halt in front of a young woman with brown hair and gray eyes, who was helping an old couple of ex-Ravinians repair a hole in their tent.

"Courtney!" he exclaimed.

Courtney Chetwynde wheeled around to stare at her friend in surprise. "What's got you all agitated?"

"C-Courtney, I found something strange in the underground tunnels. I need you to g-go with me."

"What's the matter, dork? I thought you were all tough now," teased Courtney. "You're telling me you need someone to cover your butt again?"

"No, it's not like that," Mark said. "It's about Bobby."

Instantly, Courtney stepped away from the tent, her eyes wide. "What!"

"Look, just come with me."

"Young ma'am, we still need that hole patched up!" complained the elderly woman.

"Maddie, come over here and help these people," Courtney called out impatiently, and a girl in her late teens rushed over to take over Courtney's position.

Ten minutes later, Mark and Courtney were in the underground tunnel, staring at the door. "_Open when the battle is over_," Courtney read. "You think…"

"Yeah, I do," said Mark. "He wants to share something with us now that Saint Dane is gone. Let's find out what it is."

Mark then stepped forward and pushed the door open.

The steam tunnel was pitch-black. Courtney reached into a pack she was carrying and withdrew a flashlight, examining the surroundings. The beam of light revealed lots of disused machines and pipes, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Let's go in," Mark said nervously.

The two of them slowly stepped forward, Courtney continuing to shine the beam everywhere. But they didn't find anything…until Mark stepped on something that crinkled underfoot.

"What's that?" Courtney said sharply.

"It…it looks like pages," Mark said, bending down to pick them up. "But I don't know what…"

"Let's go back into the other tunnel and read them," Courtney said.

They dashed out of the old steam tunnel and sat down against the wall of the passage. The first page was covered in writing…and it was definitely from Bobby.

_Hey, Mark and Courtney. If you're reading this, it means the war for Halla is over, one way or another. Now that everything has passed, I think it's time to share a secret that I should have never kept from you._

_The truth is, I've been to a couple of other territories that I never mentioned. They had their own turning points, and Saint Dane and I had more battles on them._

_I'm sure you're wondering why I never sent these journals to you. The answer is that these particular battles weirded me out so badly that for a time, I wasn't sure whether any of it was real. I thought it could be a really trippy Lifelight jump, or maybe a new mind trick Saint Dane was using to mess with me. And I didn't know whether to send these to you or just incorporate them into another journal. I actually kind of lost track of when these battles even happened relative to all my other adventures, although I do know they occurred towards the end._

_But as time wore on, it became clear that these experiences were indeed real. Unfortunately, by the time I decided to send them to you, we were right in the middle of our final stand against Ravinia and Saint Dane. I had no opportunity to give them to you._

_I knew my only option would be to leave them someplace. But they had to be safe places, or they might have been found by someone unwelcome. So I've had to scatter these journals all over the place. You have found the first one. Congratulations. When you're ready to read the second journal, go deeper into that steam tunnel._

_Hobey-ho,_

_Bobby_

"There were more battles?" Courtney said, shocked. "How can that be? I thought there were only ten territories!"

"Obviously there was more to Halla than we realized," Mark replied. "Let's read."

They turned their attention to the larger stack of pages in Mark's lap. They were brown and crusty and tied up into scrolls. Mark unfurled the first one and read out, "_Journal Number Thirty-Eight. First Edge. Yeah, you read it right…_"


	7. Third Earth, Part 2

**~ THIRD EARTH ~  
><strong>(Continued)

"Wow," said Mark softly, as the two of them rolled up the last scroll and grouped them all together again. "I don't blame Bobby for wondering whether this all really happened."

"I wish he could have left us all the journals in the same place, though," Courtney complained.

"He was just being cautious," Mark said. "This way, if one of these was stolen by a Ravinian or something, the rest would still be safe. Assuming the directions to the each subsequent journal are things only we would understand."

"Well, let's get going on Bobby's scavenger hunt," grumbled Courtney, getting to her feet and heading back towards the door. "He said to go deeper into the steam tunnel to find the next one."

The two of them returned to the dark, pipe-filled room, Courtney shining her flashlight directly ahead.

"I gotta say, there's at least one thing I like about reading the journals this way," Mark commented.

"Oh? What is that?"

"Well, we know that Bobby already won. The Travelers stopped Saint Dane. So we already know that Bobby will survive whatever danger he might encounter out in open sky with Twig and the sky pirates."

"That First Edge place is beyond weird," Courtney said, directing the beam left and right. "Goblins, flying rocks and boats, a cliff that seems to be the edge of the world…it makes flying through time and space seem almost normal by comparison."

They crept along in silence for a while longer, but found nothing. Just when the two of them were about to give up…

"There!" Mark cried, pointing at the wall just as Courtney's beam traveled over it. "There's a hatch!"

There was indeed a round, metal hatch built into the wall. Cautiously, the two of them approached it. Courtney grasped the handle and pulled. It was locked.

"Well, this must not be it," Courtney said. "Let's keep looking…"

"No!" Mark said excitedly. "It's a combination lock. And there's a note!"

Mark pulled off another piece of paper, and read out "_Courtney. This is the way we were meant to be. Begin rotating left, one rotation each._ I don't get it."

But Courtney's eyes shone with excitement. "I know the combination," she said without hesitation.

Before Mark could ask, Courtney was twirling the dial of the combination lock. "Twenty left…" she muttered, frowning in concentration, "fifteen right…seven left…five right…twenty left…eight right…five left…eighteen right."

Once she had finished spinning the dial, she gave the hatch a tug. It creaked open.

"How the heck did you figure that out?" Mark demanded.

"_Together_," Courtney said. "That's the way Bobby and I were meant to be. I just converted each letter into a number."

Mark beamed at her. "You really are something."

Courtney gave Mark a cocky wink. "Bobby always chose his friends well." She stepped forwards into the black hole beyond the hatch. Mark scurried in after her.

They were standing in a small, earthy chamber. On the floor in front of them was a single page. Mark's face fell. "I was hoping he'd be giving us another journal in this room."

"Yeah, well, I guess it isn't gonna be that easy," said Courtney, and she bent down and grabbed the paper. "_An old friend is waiting for you at the place where the Travelers reunited_," she read out.

Mark and Courtney stared at each other.

"An old friend?" Mark said. "What does he mean?"

"Never mind that," Courtney said, sounding angry. "How the heck does he think we're gonna get to Solara?"

"What?" said Mark, confused.

"I don't even know if physical beings can go there!" Courtney shouted. "Isn't it just for spirits? How could he make such a dumb…"

"He didn't tell us to go to Solara," Mark said.

"What do you mean?" Courtney demanded. "Of course he did! He said 'the place where the Travelers reunited'!"

"The Travelers weren't reunited in Solara," said Mark.

Courtney froze, looking bewildered. "But then…where is Bobby talking about?"

"When all the Travelers met up," explained Mark, remembering what Bobby told him, "they were here. On Third Earth. It was in the ruins of the New York City Zoo!"

"The New York City Zoo?" Courtney repeated in astonishment. "You think that's where Bobby wants us to go?"

"I'm almost sure of it," Mark replied. "Come one, let's go!"

The journey back to the surface was quick. However, it took a while for Mark and Courtney to get to the ruins of the zoo, as they didn't encounter any cars along the way. However, they strode on purposefully, taking a route that Mark knew back from his childhood on Second Earth. His parents used to take him here every now and then, and he had enjoyed learning about the more exotic creatures on display.

At last, they arrived at the broken archway, and stepped onto the debris-strewn path. Most of the animal habitats were destroyed, and craters every twenty feet or so indicated where the missiles had hit during the air strike described in Bobby's Journal #37. But Mark and Courtney didn't stop to look at the devastation…they were too busy searching for any signs of life.

They checked every square inch of the zoo, and found nobody.

"Well, that's disappointing," said Courtney.

"Maybe I misunderstood the note," said Mark, taking it from Courtney's hand and gazing at it. "But I don't…"

"You didn't misunderstand the note," came a voice from behind them, making them jump.

They spun around to see a man in his fifties with long, messy hair, wearing a brown shirt, jeans, and a frayed tan coat. He was striding towards them, smiling slightly.

"You!" Mark cried in total amazement.

"Hello, Mark and Courtney," said Press Tilton, shaking hands with each of them in turn.

"What…what are you doing here?" breathed Courtney.

Press didn't speak for a few seconds. Then, he said slowly, "I'm here because Bobby needed one last favor from the three of us."

"Retrieving the last journals?" Mark said eagerly.

"That's right," said Press. He reached into his coat and pulled out a bundle of scrolls, handing it to Mark. "Here's the next one. But we're just getting started."


	8. Journal 39, Part 1: First Edge

JOURNAL #39

FIRST EDGE

Well, the good news is that I survived the journey into Open Sky in one piece. And Twig is now aware of his responsibility as a Traveler. That's pretty much the only good news to come out of the month that I have spent on First Edge since I last wrote to you. No matter how miserable I am, however, it's nothing to the pain that Twig is going through. He's had to deal with a lot lately, and I really admire him for the strength he's shown in the face of his hardships. We're about to set off on another journey. In many ways, this journey won't be as dangerous, but it still has a lot of potential to get ugly.

And I still have no idea where Saint Dane is or what he's doing. Man, that's frustrating.

Anyway, after that first night, things went downhill fast. I've done a lot of unpleasant things as a Traveler, but usually, at the very least, the near-death experiences were pretty short. It would feel like an eternity, but at the end, it would only have been maybe thirty seconds.

Not so here.

We were all in a near constant state of panic out in Open Sky. There were storms like you wouldn't believe. And not just rainstorms. There were storms that were just writhing balls of lighting. There were storms that hailed fireballs. There were swirling, multicolored tornadoes. There was fog that felt like it was literally trying to strangle us. All of this stuff battered the Edgedancer mercilessly. We nearly turned turvey at least a couple dozen times. Imagine staring death in the face for three solid weeks. That's what I had to go through. It's what we all had to go through. But these guys grew up on this territory. They had at least had some inkling of how dangerous this mission was going to be. I was completely oblivious. But I learned pretty quickly.

I tried to keep myself as busy as possible, for fear that if I stopped working, the terror of my situation would become too much and I'd go insane. I found myself constantly asking Twig and the others if I could help them. Sometimes they let me, sometimes they didn't. At first, the sky pirates only let me do simple labor like swabbing the deck and preparing the food. They knew I had no knowledge of sailing a sky ship, and I think they were afraid I'd tear a rope or detach a balance weight or something. But over time, they hesitantly started allowing me to assist in raising and lowering the sails, untangling ropes, and adjusting cables. I was always working with Tarp and Spooler, though, and they were guiding me through the whole process. I left Second Earth to become a Traveler before I had a chance to get a learner's permit, but I assume this is what it feels like the first couple of times you drive a car, and you're being walked through every little step. The funny thing was, the more involved I got in sailing the ship, the less scared I became. I think it made me feel a little better to know that keeping the ship flying safely was now partially within my power to ensure, and I was doing an okay job.

I began to learn how the sky ship worked, too. Twig explained to me that all of the ship's buoyancy came from the round boulder in the cage that split the hull, known as the "flight-rock". The ship rose when the rock was cooled, and sunk with the rock was heated. Everything else was all about keeping the flight controlled and balanced. A crewmember known as the "Stone Pilot" regulated and adjusted the temperature of the flight-rock as necessary. Our Stone Pilot was a small girl named Maugin.

At the same time, I was starting to learn the names of the various races on First Edge by overhearing snatches of conversation between the sky pirates. Tarp was known as a 'Slaughterer', Spooler was an "Oakelf", Woodfish was a "Waterwaif", Bogwitt was a "Flat-Head Goblin", Maugin was a "Termagant Trog" who had never turned, whatever the heck that meant. It all sounded like something out of a fantasy book. I had thought that Twig and Wingnut Sleet were just plain old humans, but they referred to themselves as "Fourthlings". Did that mean there were no humans on First Edge at all? Or was "Fourthling" just their name for humans, like the gars on Eelong?

And so it went on. For days. We worked hard to keep the ship going. It was exhausting. I was almost too tired to be scared of our situation.

The journey pretty much continued in this manner until the twentieth day.

The day started off as usual. It had been five days since we had been becalmed in a static air pocket, and we were exhausted. We had resorted to working in shifts, some of us performing the tasks of two people, the others getting a few hours of sleep. But we all leapt into action the moment we heard Spooler yelling from the perch atop the front mast, which the sky pirates referred to as the "caternest".

"Weather vortex straight ahead. And it's a monster!"

Twig pulled out his telescope and trained it on the sky directly ahead of us. I saw him shudder.

"I see it, Spooler."

"It's coming in at a rate of about a hundred strides per second, Captain Twig, sir," Spooler shouted, sounding terrified. "We've precious little time till impact."

As if to underline Spooler's ominous words, the Edgedancer was buffeted by turbulent gusts of wind. We entered into a mass of cloud banks, shooting in and out of fog. The caterbird did not react, merely plowing on through the sky and leading the shuddering Edgedancer onwards. I had no idea how it was able to track Cloud Wolf over this great a distance, but I felt certain that we were at last approaching our goal. The trouble was that the caterbird seemed to be leading us towards the very last place I wanted to go.

"Surely this is madness!" exclaimed Sleet. "It's heading straight for the vortex."

"We must follow where the caterbird leads, Sleet," replied Twig.

"B…but…" Sleet protested in a stutter.

"Sleet! We are all in this together. Just make sure those tolley-ropes are securely cleated."

Grumbling, Sleet walked over to where Bogwitt was holding on to the rigging and muttered to him darkly. Woodfish soon joined them, and the three of them fell into a deep discussion.

"The tolley-ropes, Sleet!" Twig shouted. Sleet started and hurried to secure the ropes.

I turned to look at Twig, who was gazing out at the caterbird flapping ahead of them, with Goom standing at his side. What was going through his head? He looked afraid. But was he afraid for himself or for us, or for his father? Or all three?

Twig turned around. "Take the helm, Goom. Hold a steady course. We've got to keep on after the caterbird."

"Wuh-wuh," said Goom, doing as Twig had instructed, as Twig himself began adjusting the flight levers. The caterbird was flying erratically, and it was becoming tougher to follow it.

All of a sudden, the Edgedancer lurched, plunged, and listed heavily to starboard. I was knocked off my feet and rolled across the deck, yelling in surprise and alarm. For a moment, I thought the momentum was going to carry me over the balustrade and send me plunging into the yawning void below the sky ship. Then, I slammed into the mast, and banged my head. I saw stars. I managed to climb shakily to my feet.

Around me, the other sky pirates were also struggling to stay upright. A few of them cried out as they gave ungainly wobbles, looking all sorts of scared. I didn't blame them.

I looked back up at the helm to see Twig's fingers flying everywhere, moving the levers. The ship became more stable, then less stable again. This was getting dangerous. As if it hadn't been already.

"Harder to starboard, Goom!" I heard Twig roar. "We've got to maintain the angle of…"

The ship swung around suddenly, and with a creaking shudder, listed in the other direction.

"Tether down!" Twig shouted urgently.

I saw Sleet lash himself to the mast with a tolley-rope, Tarp and Woodfish holding onto the bowsprit, Spooler withdrawing into the enclosure of the caternest, and Bogwitt dancing on the spot, bellowing in fear. Quickly, I leaped for the flight-rock cage, grabbed one of the bars, and held on to it so tightly my hands hurt. No way was I going to be thrown off this ship. I just hoped the ship would remain in one piece. I looked up at Maugin standing on the flight-rock platform above me. She wore a bulky protective suit that covered her entire body, and a tall, pointed hood that obscured her head, presumably to protect from the temperature extremes around her as she cooled and heated the flight-rock. Unlike the other crew members, she showed no sign of fear. Well, I couldn't see her face, but she still looked pretty calm. I was grateful for that; from what Twig told me, keeping the flight-rock stable was the most crucial task of sailing a sky ship. I didn't want to think what would happen if she lost control of the rock.

"Seventy-five thousand strides and closing," came Spooler's voice from the caternest.

"Stay tethered!" bellowed Twig. "I don't want to lose anybody overboard."

Sleet and Tarp started arguing heatedly.

"What's going on down there?" said Twig, looking down at Tarp.

"Nothing, cap'n. Just Sleet here got a touch of the jitters."

"So far as I'm aware," Sleet complained, "no captain has ever steered his sky ship into a weather vortex and lived to tell the tale."

Gulp.

Nobody spoke. It seemed that the other sky pirates' loyalty to Twig outweighed their fear. They were a brave bunch…or maybe a stupid bunch. I couldn't be sure. Sleet was certainly making a compelling case for turning tail and getting the heck out of there…but Twig was the captain, and he was a Traveler. I had to believe that he knew what he was doing.

The air was filled with roaring and howling. It had to be the vortex, but I still couldn't see it. It seemed Spooler could, though.

"Vortex, fifty thousand strides!" the oakelf shouted.

"Listen up, all of you," said Twig loudly. "You too, Goom," he added, turning to look at the banderbear still holding a steady course. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," we all said, looking up at him.

"I did not force any of you to come," said Twig, looking around at everyone, his gaze lingering on me for a fraction of a second longer than everyone else, "Yet come, you did. And I am grateful for that—more grateful than you can imagine."

Woodfish nodded. As a mind-reader, he could clearly imagine how grateful Twig was.

"I thought I had lost my father forever," Twig went on. "Now I have been given a chance to find him. I shall never forget that it is you who have made this possible."

I looked down at the ground. My hopes were not as high as Twig's that we would find him, though of course I did not tell him why.

"I would follow you to the end of Open Sky, cap'n!" proclaimed Tarp.

"Wuh-wuh!" said Goom in agreement.

Sleet looked just as awkward as I felt.

"We have already come a long way together," said Twig. "Now we are about to be tested to the limit. Sky willing, we will find Cloud Wolf and return to the Edge. But if…" He hesitated for a second. "If we fail, then I swear that so long as you are members of my crew, come what may, I will never abandon you. Never! As captain of the Edgedancer, I give you my word."

"I can't speak for the others," said Tarp, looking up at Twig, "but I'm with you, cap'n, all the way."

"Me, too," agreed Woodfish.

Everyone murmured in assent, even Sleet. I did, too. What the hell?

"Though I still don't see why we have to make things so difficult for ourselves by sailing straight into the mouth of a weather vortex," Sleet muttered irritably.

"Have faith in the caterbird," said Twig. "It knows what it's doing."

"Vortex at twenty-five thousand strides," reported Spooler. "Approximately four minutes to impact."

The ship suddenly entered a dark gray cloud. Visibility dropped alarmingly. All I could see were the forks of blue lighting flashing all around us.

When we emerged from the cloud bank, I looked up…and my mouth fell open. Twig gasped. The crew jumped in horror. I even thought I saw the caterbird start.

The weather vortex was visible at last…and it filled our field of vision. It was a dark red, swirling, spiraling, screaming mass of air. I felt like screaming myself. Maybe I did…I can't remember.

"V…v…vortex, ten thousand strides, and c…closing," stammered the oakelf.

As the caterbird led us closer and closer to the weather vortex, it called back, "A little higher, Twig. We must enter the vortex at the still point in the very center of the spinning tunnel of air."

Instantly Twig obeyed, adjusting the controls frantically. The Edgedancer began approaching from a different angle.

"That's it. Now hold this course," yelled the caterbird. "So long as we remain at the center of the weather vortex, we stand a chance."

"Five thousand strides!" shouted Spooler. By now, even Twig looked tense and frightened. I can only imagine how terrified I must have looked. I was probably about a hair's breadth away from curling up into a fetal position and blubbering with fear. The Edgedancer was being battered this way and that, despite Twig's best efforts to hold a steady course. The air seemed to crackle with energy. It looked like the sky was on fire.

"A thousand strides!" cried Spooler.

The crew leaped to grab hold of anything solid. Not that it would do much good if the Edgedancer was torn apart. I seized the mast and hugged it for dear life.

"Fire hundred strides!"

The vibrations were torture.

"Four. Three…"

It was all I could do not to let the wind tear me away from the mast.

"Two. One…"

"Brace yourselves!" screamed Twig from the helm. "We are entering the weather vortex…now!"


	9. Journal 39, Part 2: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

I thought I had died and gone to hell.

I couldn't see anything but red, swirling air. Everything was stiflingly hot. The wind screamed and whined around us. But the turbulence had almost disappeared. Twig had successfully steered the Edgedancer into the center of the vortex.

Over the squalling of the wind, I could hear Twig roaring, "Heavy on the mainsail, Tarp. And double-check that the tolley-ropes are secure, Pendragon."

"Aye aye, cap'n," yelled Tarp's voice.

I stumbled across the deck to where I knew the ropes were tethered, and reached out for them blindly with my hands. They seemed to be secure, but there was one less than I remembered. How odd.

"Hold fast!" bellowed Twig's voice. "Goom, chain yourself to the helm and keep us steady. Pendragon, I told you to see to the tolley-ropes!"

I was about to call back that they were secure, when I suddenly realized something. If I couldn't find one of the ropes, that must mean it was free-swinging and untethered. What a dope.

Something slapped me hard on the side of the head. I fell sideways, reached out with my hand, and grabbed what had hit me. It was the loose tolley-rope. I was back in business.

I found the rest of the ropes with my other hand, and clumsily tied it off next to them. "Tolley-ropes secure, captain!" I shouted.

I heard Twig shouting something to the caterbird, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. Everything was chaos and confusion.

And then, the air turned from opaque red to misty blue, and the ship was pounded with hailstones. Before I understood what was happening, I was suddenly gripped with terrible misery. I fell to my knees, sobbing. For Uncle Press and Osa and Seegen and Jen Remudi and Kasha and all the other Travelers who had been lost. For Veelox and Quillan, the once-mighty territories doomed to crumble. For the life I had on Second Earth that was taken away from me. In that moment, it was all too much to bear.

I finally raised my head and looked around, my vision blurred by tears. I became aware that the others were weeping too. Tarp, Spooler, Sleet, Bogwitt, Woodfish, Goom, even Twig himself. Only Maugin was unfazed. And then I realized that it was the hailstones. The hailstones were filling us with misery! Maugin wasn't affected because of her protective Stone Pilot gear.

Desperately trying to control my own bawling, I willed the hail to stop. And, quite suddenly, it did, to be replaced instead by coiling tendrils of green fog. It seeped into my lungs, chilling my blood. I was gripped with icy terror. It was hopeless. Everything we had done was futile. Saint Dane was winning the war. Soon Halla would be his, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was powerless to stop him from sending all of existence spiraling into oblivion.

"We're doomed!" I heard Twig yell. "We'll never escape. We're all going to die in this terrible place. We…"

"After sorrow, fear," I heard the caterbird saying, its voice drifting out of the gloom. "This too will pass. Be brave, Captain Twig."

The caterbird was right. A few seconds later, the fog thinned and gave way to a sparkling drizzle of raindrops. They seemed to wash away my regrets and fears and misery, and the next thing I knew I was dancing around the deck, laughing uncontrollably. I was vaguely aware of the others roaring with laughter too. At that moment, everything was perfect.

It didn't last.

"Aaaaargh!"

Sleet was screaming, desperately clawing at a writhing blue sphere of lightning that had engulfed his face.

"Get down!" bellowed Twig. The sky pirates all dived for cover as more balls of lightning ricocheted around like superballs. They seemed almost sentient…and completely nasty.

Sleet and Tarp were lying face down on the deck. "Save us! Save us!" Woodfish shrieked.

"We must go on!" yelled Twig.

At that moment, the weather changed again. The Edgedancer was cloaked in red, smoky mist that made our surroundings shimmer and swim.

The instant I inhaled it, my thoughts returned to Saint Dane. His evil had no bounds…and nor did his power. He was always several steps ahead of me, always able to calculate my next move before I had even worked it out myself. It was all so terribly, monstrously unfair. My blood was boiling. I heard a ringing in my ears. I wanted a piece of somebody. Bad.

"No going back!" I heard Twig bellowing over my own inarticulate screams of anger.

Like me, the sky pirates were gripped by a blind fury. Goom was roaring and lashing out with his tremendous fists, battering the sides of the Edgedancer and ripping up pieces of the balustrade. Worst of all, however, was Twig's rage.

The ship began to buck and spin. I was knocked off my feet, and in that instant, it all came back to me. The anger wasn't mine. It was all coming from the weather. Fighting the terrible fury consuming my being, I noticed Twig punching and kicking at the helm, snapping off the bone-handled flight levers and sending pieces of the controls flying everywhere. As his violent fit of rage continued, the Edgedancer thrashed and lurched just as wildly, completely out of control.

Twig now turned his rage towards the caterbird. "Curse you! May you rot in Open Sky!" He was running across the deck, his sword raised high above his head, bellowing all the while. As much as the mist was affecting me too, the sight brought me back to reality. If Twig killed the caterbird, we would be lost out here forever. Struggling to resist the effects of the red mist, I struggled towards the helm. I would get to where Twig was, and…do what? Pull him back? Try to calm him down? He would not be reasoned with. And he had a sword. Trying to stop him would probably only get me cut to pieces. Besides, the Edgedancer was being tossed around so violently that I couldn't stand up. I could only watch helplessly as Twig started slashing and cutting, his sword becoming a blur. Fortunately, the caterbird was too far away for Twig to reach. But in seconds, he had severed the rope connecting the caterbird to the bowsprit. The great bird was instantly lost from view in the red mist. The ship juddered violently. Goom roared. It was all a blur of wreckage and furious energy.

The sight of Twig falling back down to the deck was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.


	10. Journal 39, Part 3: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

The biggest miracle was that the _Edgedancer_ didn't turn turvey. The ship was battered, half torn to pieces, completely impossible to control, and listing badly, but it hadn't turned turvey. I was alive. The question was, how many of the _others_ were alive?

I came to slowly, raised myself off the deck, and looked around. The ship was becalmed in a great, white void. An eerie silence pressed around us all. Where the heck were we?

It was then that I registered that the _Edgedancer_ was not alone. There was another sky ship hanging not too far away from us. It looked just as wrecked as our own vessel, but there was also a shimmering, almost translucent quality to it. What was it doing there?

And then, I remembered the whole point of our perilous journey. To find Cloud Wolf. Twig's father. The Traveler from First Edge. Could he be on that hovering shipwreck?

"You're awake." said a soft, muffled voice.

I spun around to see Maugin walking towards me.

"Where's Twig? The rest of the crew?"

"Still unconscious," said Maugin, pointing around. "My gear protected me. The others weren't so lucky."

I looked around at where Maugin was indicating. I saw the sky pirates strewn across the tilted deck. Goom was lying face down right next to Spooler, who had fallen from the caternest. If Goom had landed just a few more feet to his left, the oakelf would have been smooshed. Twig lay crumpled near the bowsprit. Beyond this, a short stretch of the rope that had tethered the caterbird to the ship was gently swaying, hanging off the end of the ship.

I pointed at the other ship. "Is that…"

"The _Stormchaser_," said Maugin. "Cloud Wolf's sky ship. I served as its Stone Pilot for many years; I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Do you think he's on board?"

"Perhaps," she said. She turned toward me, and I looked into the glass eye-panels of her protective hood. She stared at me, evidently thinking.

"Pendragon, do you think you could toss a grappling hook onto the deck of the _Stormchaser_, then board the vessel and secure the rope? I'm not strong enough, and it would be a good idea to get everything prepared for when the captain wakes up."

"Okay," I said. My heart was pounding. I knew I would have no trouble throwing the grappling hook. All the warrior training on Zadaa, exercise regimens on Quillan, and stealth missions with the Jakills on Ibara had stuck with me. I was strong. The scary part would be sliding down the grappling rope. My job would be to make sure it was securely hooked, but I wouldn't know if it was until I made it to the other end. I would have to stake my life on it already being stuck tight in order to get across…so I could check that it was stuck tight.

I definitely wouldn't be sorry to leave this territory.

The grappling hook caught on my first attempt. I gave it a few preliminary tugs. It held. I hoped that was good enough.

Maugin broke off a piece of wood from the splintered mast and handed it to me. "Hang from this and slide down the rope," she said.

Before I had any time to worry too much about what I was doing, I did as Maugin instructed. I slid quickly down the rope, faster and faster, the incomprehensible emptiness rushing beneath me. My arms were screaming in protest. I just clung on tighter. And then, I was lying on the deck of the _Stormchaser_, the piece of wood I had slid down on lying right next to me. It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds. It might as well have been years.

I got to my feet and looked around. There was no doubt about it. This ship was translucent. It looked as though it was fading away. I had no idea what to make of it, so I turned my attention to the grappling hook.

When I saw it, I felt that I was incredibly lucky that it had held. It was hooked on a patch of crooked, splintered balustrade. If the wood had given way, I would have been done. I immediately removed it, secured it on a sturdier piece of balustrade, and waved up to Maugin, who was peering down at me from over the side of the _Edgedancer_.

"Good!" she called back. "Now, I'll warm the flight-rock to bring down the _Edgedancer_ and make the ship descend below the _Stormchaser_, so you can slide back here down the rope. Then, I'll make the ship rise again so Captain Twig can use the rope when he…"

Suddenly, the grappling hook fell away. It didn't come undone. It passed through the deck of the ship, as though it was just a hologram. It swung wildly below the _Edgedancer_.

"Not good," I croaked feebly.

That was strange. It seemed as though the _Stormchaser _was indeed fading away, and growing less solid all the while. And I was trapped on it. I would have to wait for one of the stronger sky pirates to wake up and throw the rope again. But there was no guarantee that the rope would even hold. What was to stop it just passing through the ship again? It seemed very likely that I would end up sitting here helplessly until the _Stormchaser_ vanished beneath my feet.

All I knew is that I sure as hell wasn't going to sit there and do nothing.

"I'm going to search for Cloud Wolf," I yelled to Maugin. "If I find out he's here, Twig can be secure in the knowledge that he's not risking his life for nothing. If I find out he's not here, well, it'll save Twig a lot of trouble."

"Good thinking!" called back Maugin.

I walked across the deck, stepping tentatively in case parts of it were no longer solid. I made my way towards the helm, skirting around piles of wood and fragments of tattered sail cloth. Looking down, I saw that the ship was now translucent enough to see into the interior of the hull. Why was the _Stormchaser_ disappearing? Ships don't just fade away. No, I take that back…apparently they sometimes do on First Edge. But what did it all mean?

Suddenly, I heard a hoarse, croaking voice.

"Pendragon."

I jumped, and looked at the helm. Sitting next to the wrecked controls was a pale, white-haired figure with thick sideburns, a gaunt, lined face, and pale blue eyes. Red flags shot up in my mind. Saint Dane had blue eyes. Had we come all this way hoping to rescue Twig's father, only to rescue the demon Traveler instead?

A closer look made me breathe more easily. This was not Saint Dane. The eyes weren't glowing and ice-cold, like Saint Dane's. These eyes were just…pale. His pupils were almost drained of color. I realized that he was fading away along with his ship.

"Are…are you Cloud Wolf?" I asked, taking a step toward him.

"Who else would I be?" he said with a weak smile. "I am only sorry that you have been introduced to First Edge so rudely."

I strode to the edge of the helm, and called out to Maugin, "He's here!" Maugin waved back to indicate that she had heard me. I then turned back to look at the Traveler from First Edge.

Cloud Wolf looked a lot like Twig. But I was sure it was a coincidence…the Travelers didn't have biological parents. Or if we did, we never knew them, anyway. Uncle Press wasn't really my uncle, and he told me that my family wasn't actually related to me, either. It was the same way on all the territories.

Oh, yeah. Cloud Wolf had a Traveler ring on his finger, too.

"I've read a lot about your adventures across Halla in the journals passed around by the acolytes," said Cloud Wolf. "I am glad to have had the chance to meet you…for my time is short."

This news didn't surprise me. I already knew that Cloud Wolf was doomed. He had to move aside for Twig to take his place. But it was still painful to hear.

"Twig's here, too." I told him.

Cloud Wolf stiffened. "He is?"

"How do you think I got here?" I said with a small grin. "Your son's one heck of a sky pirate captain."

"Where is he?"

"Unconscious, I think. On the deck of his ship. But the Stone Pilot knows you're here. When Twig wakes, she'll tell him, and he'll come down here. And then you can tell him all about the Travelers and Halla and Saint Dane."

"No," said Cloud Wolf. "I haven't got much time left. I have far more important matters to discuss with him."

"More important than the truth about everything that ever was or ever will be?" I said incredulously.

"Yes. In the short term, anyway. It's about the turning point of First Edge."

I was speechless. Cloud Wolf knew the turning point!

"Of course, I will not tell him it is the turning point," Cloud Wolf added. "I will only tell him what is coming, and what must be done. Later, when you make it back to the Edge, you can explain the grander scheme to him."

"It would really help if he heard it coming from his father," I said.

"It will help nobody if I have no time to warn him of what is coming."

"What do you mean? What's happening to you?"

Cloud Wolf shook his head. "I will explain when Twig joins us. I do not want to have to start my story all over again…I'll only waste what little energy I have left."

I was starting to get excited. "What's coming?" I said. "What's Saint Dane planning? How can we stop it? What's…"

All of a sudden, I was falling. The wooden plank I had been standing on was no longer solid. Adrenaline surged through my body, and I frantically scanned my surroundings as I fell through the hull of the ship. A balance weight was swinging near me. I grabbed for its chain, praying that it was solid.

It was.

Of course, I was still in mortal danger. I was swinging from the underside of a slowly fading sky ship suspended in a colossal void. If I didn't do something fast, I'd take the mother of all nasty falls.

And I hadn't even gotten the chance to hear what Cloud Wolf had discovered.


	11. Journal 39, Part 4: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Gripping the chain as tightly as I could, I looked up at the underside of the _Stormchaser_'s hull. It became a shade more translucent as I watched. This was getting serious. I had very little time left.

Then, I noticed that the chain was attached to the underside of the flight-rock cage, and an idea took shape in my mind. If I climbed up the chain, I might be able to make my way up and around onto the top, like on those round metal grid things little kids climb around on at playgrounds. It would be just like recess back in elementary school…with the exception that when the bell rang, it would be a heck of a lot more final.

I began to climb up the chain as quickly as I could, ignoring the soreness in my arms. Soon, I had reached the base of the cage, and I grabbed it with my hands. Then, I carefully positioned my feet to get a good grip, and began to move from bar to bar.

The further I climbed, the easier it got. The cage was spherical, so I gradually went from hanging upside down, to climbing straight up, to crawling along an incline. More worrisome was the possibility that a bar I reached for wouldn't be solid. There were a couple of times when my hand or foot passed through a bar of the cage. Fortunately, I was smart enough not to put my full weight down until I was sure the bar was safe.

Soon, I would reach the flight-rock platform, where I could jump back onto the deck, and…what would I do next? The grappling hook had fallen away from the _Stormchaser_. There was no way for me to get back onto the _Edgedancer_. All I could do would be to just hang around and wait until I fell for good. Still, I couldn't think of anything to do other than get back onto the deck of the _Stormchaser_, so I continued to climb.

At last, I got up onto the flight-rock platform, and landed back on the deck with a bounding leap. As I jumped, I realized how stupid a move I had just made. If the deck was fading, I'd fall right through it again. Mercifully, this wasn't the case. I landed with a bone-jarring thud, and looked around the deck again. And then, I saw something that was absolutely wonderful, but made no sense whatsoever.

The grappling hook was back in place.

I strode to the smashed balustrade, and saw the _Edgedancer_ descending in the sky. Maugin was heating the flight-rock to bring Twig's sky ship below the _Stormchaser_ so that it would be possible to slide back down the rope to the other side. As the deck of the _Edgedancer_ came into view, I noticed that the other sky pirates were awake, each of them looking dazed and confused. As the people of First Edge would say, "What in Sky's name was going on?"

Suddenly, I understood. Twig must have woken up and boarded the _Stormchaser_ himself.

I spun round to look at the helm. Sure enough, there was Twig. He and Cloud Wolf were deep in urgent discussion. I breathed a sigh of relief. Cloud Wolf seemed convinced that he was going to die in a matter of moments, and although I had no clue why he was slowly disappearing, I didn't doubt for a second that he was right. But the knowledge of the impending turning point wasn't going to die with him. He was telling Twig what he knew. Though I couldn't hear what Cloud Wolf was saying, Twig's expression of mingled wonder and horror did not bode well. I strongly doubted that the explanation of Halla that I would shortly be giving him would improve his mood.

All of a sudden, the ship started shimmering and sparkling. It grew fainter than ever. It was time to be somewhere else.

"Twig!" I yelled. "Twig, we've gotta get off this thing, _now_!"

Twig didn't seem to have heard me. "Wh…what's happening?" he said anxiously, eyes focused on his glistening, fading father.

I knew I wouldn't be able to pull Twig away from Cloud Wolf. He would stay with his father until the end. I, on the other hand, couldn't stay. I too felt pain over the loss of Cloud Wolf…of a Traveler who, mere minutes after I met him, was fading into nothingness. But, as tragic as it was, this was the way it was meant to be. My own death, on the other hand, was not. Neither was Twig's, but I couldn't do anything about that. I only hoped he would leave the _Stormchaser_ in time.

I sprinted over to the grappling hook, and was relieved to discover that the piece of wood I had used to slide down the rope was still there, lying right next to Twig's. If it hadn't, then I wouldn't have been able to leave without trapping Twig there. Of course, it was entirely possible that he wouldn't make it back anyway. Whatever. I had plenty of real dilemmas without worrying about nonexistent ones. I grabbed the piece of wood, placed it on the rope, and slid back down, landing on the deck of the _Edgedancer_ a few moments later.

"You made it back!" said Maugin, looking relieved. Then, anxiety suffused her expression again. "And what of the captain?"

"Still onboard the _Stormchaser_," I said grimly, raising my head to look at the battered wreck, which was now almost completely gone. "If he doesn't get off now…"

Suddenly, Maugin gave a cry of thankfulness and pointed up at the rope. A small figure was sliding down towards the _Edgedancer_, rapidly growing larger. The moment Twig crashed down on the deck, the grappling hook fell and swung freely. I looked back up at the place where the _Stormchaser_ had been. It had totally vanished. If Twig had been a second later, he wouldn't have made it.

Oh, and Cloud Wolf was now officially gone, too.

Maugin walked up to Twig and stared at him anxiously. "What happened?"

"It…it was so strange," I heard him whisper. "Unearthly…"

"Pendragon!" hissed a voice. "Come here. Quickly!" It was Woodfish.

I didn't move. I had to hear what Cloud Wolf had told Twig.

"Now!" said Woodfish. Reluctantly, I strode over to the waterwaif. His ears twitched, and his barbells quivered.

"I only regained my hearing a moment ago, and I hear a great danger approaching. The white storm is building pressure. When that pressure is released, it will have detrimental effects on our minds."

I instantly stopped trying to listen to Twig and Maugin speaking on the other side of the deck. Woodfish had my attention.

"I believe that even if we survive, our memories won't. We will not remember what transpired after we entered the weather vortex."

"What?" I said, confused. "How can you know that?"

"I hear everything, spoken and unspoken," replied Woodfish. "And the place we are in now sounds like nothing I have ever heard before. The weather appears…sentient. I think that is why Cloud Wolf faded away; this storm absorbed his essence and knowledge. It seems to be whispering to me, too."

Suddenly, the deathly calm broke. The air was growing denser. It seemed like it was converging on the point where the _Edgedancer_ floated. A high-pitched whine had started up, and was growing in volume.

"Why are you telling me this?" I said urgently.

"I told the captain that you knew more than you were letting on. Perhaps what you have seen here and what you have pieced together is crucial to us. I cannot let you lose it."

"What can I do?" I shouted in panic. The surroundings were growing brighter and brighter. It was as though it was boring into my head.

"Protect yourself!" screamed Woodfish. "Cover your head! Do not let the weather claim your mind!"

I scanned around the ship, looking desperately for something I could use to block out the noise and light and pressure. But it was too late. The only thing that was real to me was the whiteness. It was eating away at my senses.

There was a blinding explosion. And then everything went black.


	12. Journal 39, Part 5: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

The first thing I heard was a voice. It belonged to a man. An old man, by the sound of it. Not "garbled and confused" old, but "experienced and wise" old. It sounded anxious, too.

"Twig! Twig, wake up. I'll take you back to Sanctaphrax. Twig! You wouldn't listen to me. Oh no! 'I'm a sky pirate captain,' you told me. 'Like my father, and his father before him,' you said. 'It's in the blood.' And look where it's got you. Why, if your father, Quintinius Verginix, could see you now…"

Huh? Quintinius Verginix? Twig's father's name was Cloud Wolf. I knew it because I had journeyed across Open Sky to try and save him.

What had happened out there? I couldn't remember. I had no memory of anything that happened after entering the weather vortex.

"Or, perhaps I should call him by his other name. The name of the most feared and respected sky pirate captain ever to sail the skies. Cloud Wolf…"

Ah, that solved the first mystery. Cloud Wolf was a false name. But the second mystery persisted. What had happened out in Open Sky?

"Father" said Twig voice abruptly from beside me.

I jerked my eyes open. I was lying in a barren, rocky field dotted with towering stacks of boulders. The rocks grew progressively larger higher up the stacks, so that they looked kind of like inverted many-segmented snowmen. Or rockmen.

I recognized the place. We had flown over it on our way into Open Sky. It was at the very tip of the Edge.

I then directed my attention to the two people near me. One of them was the old man. He had a long white beard and a lined face. He was dressed in a jet-black robe and a hat with four flat points protruding from the top, and hanging from his neck was a huge, ornate seal. It was circular, with calibrated compass points and zigzag patterns fanning out from the center, like the spokes of a wheel. There was no way that he was just wearing this thing for fashion purposes; it looked bulky and impractical. It had to signify something or serve some purpose.

The second person was Twig, who had just regained consciousness. But he didn't look…well, didn't look right. To begin with, he was glowing. I mean his entire body was shining brilliantly, like a radioactive monster in some dumb cartoon. For another thing, he didn't seem to recognize either of us. But the other man certainly recognized Twig.

"No, Twig, not your father," said the man in a soothing voice. "It is I, the Professor of Darkness."

Professor of Darkness. I took note of that name. It sounded important.

Twig, on the other hand, did not seem to hear the man. He stared around with a blank, haunted look.

It was then that I became aware of a flock of big, white birds, several feet beyond the Professor of Darkness, straining to get at Twig and me. They looked fierce and bloodthirsty. They definitely wanted a piece of us. Or several pieces. They weren't able to get any nearer, however, because one of their number, a particularly big specimen who looked like their leader, was snapping and kicking, driving them back. It seemed that he didn't want us harmed. Strange.

I sat up, and as I did so, I realized that I was glowing too! A brilliant light was shining from me, just like Twig. What the heck was going on?

Then, the big white leader bird turned to the Professor of Darkness and croaked, "Go. Take shooting stars, now!"

What was it with this territory and talking birds?

Suddenly, I realized what the bird meant. The 'shooting stars' were me and Twig. Clearly part of it had to do with the fact that we were glowing. But I also reasoned that, whatever happened out in Open Sky, the only logical explanation for why I was here was because Twig and I were blasted here and fell from the sky like meteors.

I looked back at the Professor of Darkness, who was now pulling Twig to his feet and speaking words of encouragement. "Now, walk. You can do it. That's it, Twig. Just a little further."

"Wait!" I said loudly, getting to my feet. "What about me?"

The Professor snapped a look at me, surprised. He had been so intent on helping Twig that he hadn't noticed the other shooting star.

"I served with him on his sky ship," I said. "I must accompany him to Sanctaphrax."

The Professor of Darkness paused, and then said, "Of course you may come with us. Sky willing, he'll be all right soon. Perhaps your presence will help him."

I was starting to like this guy. He looked scholarly and important, but at the same time concerned and kindly. I followed him.

As we walked through this flat, barren expanse, it struck me how eerie it was. There was a strange whistling noise around me. At first I thought it was just the wind, but I gradually realized the sound was coming from the rock stacks themselves. There seemed to be a kind of energy around the place. Maybe it was my imagination, but the rocks seemed almost alive.

I saw more flocks of the nasty white birds, too. These specimens seemed a lot less intelligent than the big leader. They were roosting on top of the rocks, and glaring at me and Twig. They appeared cowed by the Professor of Darkness, though. If these wild, savage birds reacted this way, how must the academics of Sanctaphrax respond when he passed? I supposed that he must be either greatly respected or greatly feared. I was rooting for greatly respected, and I can happily say that all the signs I had seen so far were pointing that way too.

Suddenly, I noticed something lying at the foot of a rock stack. I had no idea how it had got there. I suppose it was blown back to the Edge just like we were, and it was a miracle that it wasn't destroyed, or even scattered in disarray. I didn't understand it, but man, was I grateful for it. I rushed over to the rock stack, and picked up the half-written pages of this very journal.

My eyes scanned the pages of Journal #39. I had only written up to the moment before we started approaching the weather vortex, but somehow, it made my mind click into place. I guess just seeing all the words as I had written them put me back on that train of thought. But in any case, the moment I saw it, my memory returned. The weather vortex. The white storm. Seeing Cloud Wolf. Cloud Wolf telling Twig about the turning point of First Edge before fading into nothing.

Well, that was a start. But unfortunately, I still didn't know the turning point myself. I guessed that Twig's memory was probably erased just like mine. So if I could jog his memory, we could be in with a fighting chance to stop Saint Dane.

The Professor of Darkness was now walking towards a big, lumpy guy with a large barrow. "Please take us back to Anchor Chain Square," said the Professor.

"Ten quarters," said the guy, holding out a podgy hand.

"What nonsense is this?" demanded the Professor. "You said the price to take me to the Stone Gardens and back would be five quarters, and I paid up front."

"Five more each for those two," grunted the barrow-puller, gesturing at me and Twig. "Weigh more, pay more!"

"My dear fellow," said the Professor irritably, "That wasn't part of the agreement."

"Nor was two extra passengers on the return trip," said the other guy heatedly. "Five quarters per person is my charge. Don't like it? You're free to walk back."

"Oh, very well, then," snapped the Professor, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket and tossing the barrow-puller a handful of little coins. He then gently coaxed Twig into the barrow, clambered in himself, and motioned for me to sit next to him. I did so, and the guy began to pull us forward, wheezing and grunting with exertion. He clearly wasn't used to carrying three people at once.

"Soon be back," said the Professor, giving Twig an encouraging smile. Twig didn't react. "Do you remember how we first met? When you came to my old study at the top of the old Raintasters' Tower…by Sky, Twig, you helped Sanctaphrax in her hour of need. Now Sanctaphrax will help you. I swear this shall be so."

The Professor gazed deeper into Twig's face. "Oh, Twig. What in Sky's name made you venture, untethered, into Open Sky in the first place? Did you not realize the perils you would have to face? What happened out there?"

Twig did not answer. The Professor's expression grew more concerned than ever. He was clearly worried that Twig had gone mad. That possibility was making me nervous as well. Now that Cloud Wolf was gone, Twig was officially the Traveler from First Edge. If he had lost his mind before the battle for this territory really began, this battle was about to get even worse.

Soon, we were back in Undertown, and the barrow-puller was pulling us through the familiar ramshackle slums and shabby stores. It looked even worse than it had last time I was here. It seemed as though it had been hit by a violent storm. It didn't look devastated or anything, but it definitely looked like the aftermath of a lot of turmoil. Here and there I saw water damage and holes in roofs that looked like they were made by chunks of debris. And although everything was open for business, the streets were a lot less crowded than before, and there were lots of worried-looking faces and people deep in anxious conversation. But as filthy and unpleasant a city as it was, I was happy to see it. I never thought we would make it back from Open Sky.

A while later, we passed into the shadow of the massive floating rock above us. I suddenly remembered what going to Sanctaphrax would mean. We were going to go up to the city on top of that rock! How would we get up there? In a sky ship?

Soon, we reached a magnificent town square. Or magnificent by Undertown standards, anyway. It had a vast central platform on which was the largest winch I had ever seen in my life. It looked as big as a house! Coiled around it and trailing up into the sky was an equally colossal chain. Each of its links was big enough to fit a tractor trailer through, with room to spare.

With a pretty confident guess as to what this chain was for. I slowly lifted my head. The chain rose up into the sky, and connected to the base of the great floating rock. This was the chain that kept Sanctaphrax tethered to the ground.

"We're here," gasped the barrow-puller, who was now completely out of breath, and doubled up, wheezing. The Professor stepped out and helped Twig do the same, and I followed.

At that point, I became aware that there were large baskets hanging down from Sanctaphrax. They seemed to lead up to a giant wooden landing platform on the edge of the city. One of them was just above us.

"Anyone up there?" the Professor bellowed into the sky. I have no idea how whoever controlled the baskets was able to hear him, but he did, because the basket near us promptly descended low enough for us to climb into it. The Professor steered Twig into the basket, and motioned for me to join him too. I climbed in, and at once the basket began to rise off the ground, swaying in the breeze. Undertown grew smaller and smaller below us. This was getting pretty scary. The basket had high enough sides to prevent us from falling out, but the juddering and rocking made me very uncomfortable. We were putting all our trust in the rope the basket hung from. If it tore at this height, well, look out below. To take my mind off that gruesome idea, I turned to the Professor and said something that had been on my mind for a while now.

"Why did they choose to build Sanctaphrax on a floating rock?" I asked the Professor, praying that the answer was not common knowledge and that the question had not exposed my ignorance to the territory. "I mean, it looks awesome, but isn't that impractical?"

Sure enough, the Professor seemed a little confused that I had asked such a thing, but after a few seconds, he relaxed. He probably thought that I was still confused from my trip into Open Sky.

"When Sanctaphrax was founded during the First Great Migration, around twenty-three centuries ago, it wasn't on a floating rock," said the Professor. "It was simply constructed on the most massive of all the growing boulders in the Stone Gardens. Presumably the ancient founders were so taken by the rock's majesty that they felt that constructing a city on it would allow them to be part of its splendor. But, as they found out soon after the first buildings were constructed, the rocks in the Stone Gardens grow larger and more buoyant over time. The Sanctaphrax rock was no exception. Many centuries after Sanctaphrax was founded, the rock it was built on grew large enough to start floating, and it had to be secured with a chain. Later, when it grew even more buoyant, we had to anchor it down with stormphrax."

Stormphrax. I knew this part of the story. I nodded, and the Professor turned his attention back to Twig, who was standing motionless by the edge of the basket, looking out over Undertown. I'm not sure he was seeing any of it.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the top of the basket elevator. We stepped out onto the wooden landing platform, which looked much larger now that we were standing on it. I looked down at Undertown below, and it too looked much further away than I would have guessed. Why is it that you always feel further from the ground than you do from something above you, even when both are the same distance?

I then turned my attention to the city of Sanctaphrax itself. My mouth fell open in amazement yet again.

Sanctaphrax was considerably smaller than Undertown, but it was one of the most magnificent places I had ever seen. From what I had heard about it, it was a city composed entirely of academic and research institutions. I kind of expected it to be a quiet, boring place full of nerds in white lab coats.

I guess my first clue about the truth had been the spectacular towers I had glimpsed from Undertown.

Most of the buildings consisted of round, circular spires made of white marble. They all looked like palaces, with ornate designs and statues and decorative fountains everywhere. The upper levels of the buildings were connected by raised walkways and viaducts that snaked all over the city. One particularly gigantic viaduct spanned halfway across the skyline and had countless small buildings lining its sides.

Aside from these common traits, however, the buildings were very different. Some of the towers were tall, some short, some slender, some broad. And each one had different apparatuses attached to them. There were wind chimes, rain collectors, funnels, pinwheels, tangles of transparent tubes. There was a pair of identical towers topped in magnificent spherical cages, paneled with glass and full of swirling fog. In the distance was a great round building supported with a circle of huge pillars. One building had a huge dish on top of it, and looked like an empty fountain. And in the very center of the city was a tower that dwarfed all the others, extending to a dizzying height and featuring what looked like a small, glass-walled observatory at its top. Mark, do you remember when you got all excited about the construction of that massive building in Dubai? Burj Khalifa, or whatever it was called? This baby was at least that tall, and probably somewhat taller. Looking up at it made me feel a little unsteady on my feet.

Just as shocking as the stunning architecture, however, was the charged, frenzied atmosphere of the people on the spotlessly clean tiled streets stretching out in front of us. They were dressed in a variety of distinct uniforms, presumably signifying the institute to which they belonged, and were talking and gossiping with almost alarming intensity.

The platform we were standing on, however, was nearly deserted. The only person I could see near us was a boy, younger even than Twig, with tousled hair and robes that looked much too big for him. He was carrying several scrolls in his arm. He also looked all sorts of miserable.

"You there, lad!" called out the Professor imperiously, striding towards the boy with his arm around Twig's shoulder. I followed awkwardly.

"Who, me, sir?" said the boy nervously. He dropped the scrolls, and they tumbled across the ground. He scurried to pick them up, but kept his eyes fixed on the Professor.

The Professor stared at him appraisingly. "Yes, you. Help me to get Tw…er, my friend to the School of Light and Darkness and, er…"

"Of course, sir. At once, sir," stammered the boy. He pulled Twig onto his back, grunting with exertion. Twig did not struggle.

"I take it that you can keep your mouth shut," said the Professor urgently, setting off down one of the broad streets. "I don't want a lot of gossiping academics disturbing my friend."

"Y…yes." said the boy in a soft murmur.

The Professor still looked wary. "What's your name, lad?" he asked.

"Cowlquape, if it pleases you. Junior sub-acolyte of Sanctaphrax."

The Professor stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Junior sub-acolyte of Sanctaphrax. An Undertowner, by the look of you. Rich father in the Leagues, I'll be bound."

"Yes, sir," Cowlquape said, nodding. "My father is…was a leaguesman, sir."

Was a leaguesman. Something about Cowlquape's tone made me suspect that his father had not merely retired to live in comfort.

"Very good, very good," said the Professor vaguely, no longer looking at Cowlquape.

Soon, we arrived at a magnificent building that had to be the School of Light and Darkness. The building featured a vast archway leading inside, and was lined with black and white marble flags.

"Thank you, lad," said the Professor. Cowlquape released Twig, and the Professor steered him inside. I jogged along after them, and slipped in just as the massive doors of the School of Light and Darkness slammed shut.

We entered a huge, circular atrium ringed with narrow, tapering pillars. The domed ceiling was so high up that it was difficult to make out. Dozens of floors overlooked this central chamber, each one leading off into elegant galleries and elaborate laboratories, each seeming to concern some element of light or darkness. A spiral staircase in the center of the atrium connected to every floor. Academics dressed in all different shades of gray bustled this way and that. They appeared more reserved and secretive than the babbling scholars on the streets.

The Professor led me and Twig up the staircase. As we climbed higher, the galleries and offices became more and more important-looking. I also noticed that, whereas the lowest floors all seemed to be dedicated to gray shades of half-light, the rooms became more and more solidly white and black as we climbed. The academics' robes were also looking less and less uniformly gray, closer and closer to pure white and jet black. These seemed to be the more important of the academics, as their offices were larger and more imposing. What must the office of the Professor of Darkness himself look like?

We arrived at the top of the building and walked down a wide hall to a large pair of doors. One of the doors was white, the other black. The Professor pushed open the door and led us inside.

The office was magnificent and, like everything else about the School of Light and Darkness, split down the middle, each half reflecting the themes of light and darkness, respectively. The Professor sat down in an ornate throne-like chair on the dark side of the room, and gazed at the pair of us.

For the first time in ages, the Professor turned away from Twig, who was now sitting motionless in a small chair facing the Professor's desk, and looked straight at me. "You haven't told me your name," he said.

"I'm Bobby Pendragon," I said.

"And you said that you served with Twig's crew?"

I nodded.

"Well, Pendragon, you seem to have been unaffected by that which I fear is eroding Twig's sanity." said the Professor.

"I was affected," I said. "But I saw…um…a personal belonging, and it jogged my memory."

"Indeed," said the Professor. "Well, do you think you could shed some light on what happened out there? It might help me to bring Twig back to normal."

"Well, yes, but I don't know the whole story," I said. "I can only tell you what I myself experienced."

I proceeded to tell the Professor about entering the weather vortex, being wrecked in a calm, white void, and finding Twig's father. I left out the fact that he had told me that he knew what the turning point of First Edge, was, of course. I also mentioned how Twig had learned something from his father, but that I hadn't heard what they discussed, and that his father then faded away to nothing. Then, I described the big explosion that seemed to rob us of our memory, and blasted us back to the Edge.

The Professor sat there, silent. Finally, he said, "A most peculiar phenomenon. I have never heard of any weather the like of which you encountered. And, as the Professor of Darkness and the Most High Academe of Sanctaphrax, I can tell you that matters of which I am ignorant are quite uncommon."

So the Professor of Darkness was also the Most High Academe? I hoped he was a better leader than that corrupt guy Twig had described. All signs so far indicated that he was, thank goodness. Or thank Sky, to use First Edge lingo. It seemed that we had a powerful ally.

He turned to face Twig again. "Well, lad, Sanctaphrax owes you a debt of gratitude. I think it's time we repay it. Though I do not understand what ails you, perhaps we can recover your mind through intensive academia."

He smiled. "When you last left Sanctaphrax, I told you that the title of 'Professor of Light' would sit comfortably on so valiant a pair of shoulders as yours. We have still not replaced my poor, late colleague. And what is a School of Light and Darkness without a Professor of Light?"

The Professor leaned forward, stroking his beard.

"I'll just start you off as a sub-professor. You won't have any obligation to run the department; I can fill in for any responsibilities you are not up to. Once you're back to your old self, perhaps you will be ready for a full professorship. Then you can put all this dangerous sky piracy nonsense behind you for good."

Okay, I may not have known much about Sanctaphrax, but I was pretty sure that if Twig had been in his right mind, he wouldn't have liked this idea at all. He was a wild, adventurous type, not the kind of person who would want to sit in an office, studying the properties of light.

The Professor turned to me. "Now, as for you, Pendragon," he said "I ask that you remain here in Sanctaphrax with Twig. I must keep all of my options open, and I still believe there is a chance your presence may help Twig recover."

I wondered for a moment whether my Traveler healing powers might be able to help Twig. But I had only ever used them to heal physical injuries, never mental turmoil. If I had the ability to help Twig, I wasn't aware of it.

"Naturally, I would appreciate it if you spent as much time with Twig as possible, but you are welcome to explore Sanctaphrax whenever you like. Who knows? The academics of other schools might be able to offer you some additional insight into our friend's condition. But for Sky's sake, be discreet about it…the last thing Twig needs is for rumor to get out that he is locked up in a study, going mad."

The Professor sighed wearily, and got to his feet. "Now, I should like our new Sub-Professor of Light to get some rest. I shall return to my studies, and I suggest you would benefit from a nice stroll. I will escort Twig to his new private study, and check on him in a few hours."

My mind racing, I left the office.


	13. Journal 39, Part 6: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

My next several days in Sanctaphrax were an interesting time. I don't know if you could call it interesting in a "good" way, but certainly it was low-key compared to everything else I had experienced on First Edge.

Twig showed absolutely no signs of improvement. He would do whatever the Professor of Darkness asked of him, and could be coaxed to eat and sleep, but he never spoke. And in the meantime, he had developed an eerie and worrisome habit. Every night, he would go out onto the balcony of his private study and howl. I'm serious. He just howled. This was looking bad. We were starting to wonder if he would ever be the same again.

Meanwhile, academics all over Sanctaphrax were asking that same question about the weather. Strange storms were blowing in from Open Sky, with dramatic effects on Sanctaphrax and Undertown. There were big thunderstorms, clouds that pulsed with energy, multicolored mists that altered peoples' moods. Sometimes I even saw fire raining from the sky! Fortunately, most of it fizzled out in the cold air before it hit the ground, and it had no effect on the marble buildings of Sanctaphrax, but it did cause some blazes in Undertown. It was creepy. It felt to me like it was leading up to something. And the academics agreed.

I quickly learned from my frequent walks through the streets of Sanctaphrax that the academics were every bit as frenzied and gossipy as they had first appeared. Everywhere I went, I heard heated arguments about who was going to take over the position of what, and what schools were going to exercise their influence over what other schools. It reminded me a lot of those popular cliques of girls at Stony Brook Junior High, with two major differences. First, most of these people were adults, and highly educated adults at that. Second, instead of talking about dresses and relationships and other girls, these people were talking about politics and the weather.

The majority of these discussions seemed to happen at this place called the Viaduct Steps. It was a series of giant stone steps located under the Central Viaduct, which was basically a massive bridge that spanned between two of the most important buildings in Sanctaphrax, the Great Hall and that really, really tall tower I mentioned earlier, which was called the Loftus Observatory. Near the Viaduct Steps was a big decorative tile thing called the Quadrangle Mosaic, which looked exactly like the Great Seal of Office (that big pendant around the Professor of Darkness's neck). Man, I could go on like this for pages and pages. Sanctaphrax had hundreds of important landmarks and famous buildings.

In the beginning, I constantly visited the Viaduct Steps, in the hope of finding out information. But I quickly realized that I didn't even know what information I was looking for. Did I want to know something that might miraculously help me cure Twig? Or was I looking for a lead about the turning point? Besides all that, the Viaduct Steps turned out to not even be the best place to get it. There were hundreds of rumors flying around in that place, and I had no way of knowing if any of it was true. Besides, even if it was true, none of it related to my problems. Whatever. I was in the wrong place. I started avoiding the Viaduct Steps like the plague, instead seeking out the quietest places in Sanctaphrax.

During all of this, I made frequent visits to Twig's study in the School of Light and Darkness. At first it was hard to get in, because these tough security bozos called the "Treasury Guard" always stood sentry in front of the doors and shoved me away whenever I got close. These guys were flat-head goblins, like Bogwitt had been. They meant business. But soon, the Professor of Darkness learned that I was being denied entry, spoke angrily to a few people, and immediately the Treasury Guard got all polite and started holding doors for me. I guess it pays to know the Most High Academe.

I visited Twig a lot. I kept talking to him, looking at him intently for signs that he could hear me, but found none. It was incredibly frustrating. I felt so desperately alone on this territory, despite having the ear of its most prominent and venerable scholar. I needed someone who understood this war. I needed a fellow Traveler. But the fellow Traveler was in no fit state to help me. He didn't even know he was a Traveler yet. I had almost reached the point where I wanted Saint Dane to reveal himself to me. Emphasis on almost. At least it might have revealed some kind of hint to me about the way the wind was blowing.

Then, eight days after the Professor had brought us out of the Stone Gardens, I was walking past the Knights Academy, wandering absentmindedly in the direction of the School of Mist, when something caught my eye. A vast structure I had never noticed before.

Unlike the other buildings of Sanctaphrax, this building was made entirely of wood. It had the shape of a vast dome that started almost at the ground and extended about half as high as the outer wall of the School of Light and Darkness. There was a small collection of towers on the top. Its architecture was quite modest compared to the palatial schools surrounding it, which was why I had never noticed it before. But there was something about it that I immediately liked.

No noise came from within it.

I was now utterly sick of the chatter of the academics. I needed a good break from it. And this abandoned building looked like it could offer just that. I walked around it until I found the doors, and entered the building.

I was standing in a colossal, dark, musty chamber that seemed to take up the entire structure. Giant wooden support pillars stood everywhere, hundreds of them, each fitted with rungs to make for easy climbing. But the bizarre thing about them was the intricate way in which they split into smaller and smaller beams higher up, looking almost like trees. Completing the illusion were the thousands upon thousands of white bundles clustered on the uppermost beams, resembling a leafy canopy. There were also several baskets hanging near the ceiling, looking like smaller versions of the hanging-baskets which ferried people between Sanctaphrax and Undertown. What kind of place was this?

As I stepped forward, there was a crinkling sound. I looked down to see that I had stepped on a piece of the white sheets hanging from the ceiling. The ground was covered with them. The place had an air of neglect. No inhabited building would have suffered this kind of decay. I thought of Rubic City on Veelox, and how it slowly crumbled away while its population spent all their time in the virtual-reality supercomputer called Lifelight. It was creepy.

I bent down to pick up the sheet. It was fragile, and part of it crumbled in my hands. It looked like a study of some kind of creature I had never seen before. This was an academic treatise. I looked up at the hanging clusters, and realized immediately what this place was. A library. It was like no library I had ever seen, but it was clearly a library.

I looked back at the support pillars. I realized that the academics must have reached the scrolls by climbing to the top. All the divisions and subdivisions categorized the scrolls.

This place made the New York Public Library look like a half-filled bookshelf. But it was completely, totally empty. It actually made me sad.

I thought back on what Twig had told me shortly after I landed on First Edge, about the academics' obsession with the weather. "No other field of study is fashionable. They cast out the earth-scholars long ago." It looked as though this place was a repository of all the knowledge that no one cared about anymore. That didn't seem right to me. Shouldn't intellectual societies embrace learning in all its forms? Yet in Sanctaphrax, you had to play the game to get any respect. And playing the game meant proving you knew the most about the sky. Nothing else mattered. Everything the scholars didn't care about sat crumbling away to dust in this forlorn, abandoned library.

Suddenly, I heard something. A scuffling sound. There was something moving behind a nearby pillar. My heart pounded. Was it just a rat or something? Or was there someone here after all?

I walked over cautiously. "Hello?" I called out.

I heard the scuffling again. I dashed over to the pillar and peered around it. There was someone there, huddled with his back to me. He turned around, yelped in alarm, and dropped the scrolls he was holding. He was a young boy with tousled hair and robes that didn't fit him. He looked very familiar.

Then, I recognized him. He was the kid who had helped the Professor take Twig back to the School of Light and Darkness. Cowlquape.

He, on the other hand, didn't seem to recognize me. He was looking at me like I was going to eat him. I took a step towards him. "Geez, are you okay?"

Cowlquape said nothing. He just sat there, trembling, eyes wide.

"It's all right," I said. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything."

"The P-Professor of Cloud sent you, d-didn't he?" stuttered Cowlquape.

"No, no." I said, trying to use my Traveler powers to calm him down. Loor's mother, Osa, had been able to make people's fear and tension melt away with a single look. I had never quite gotten the hang of the ability, but occasionally I managed to do it. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working at the moment.

"Then what are you doing here?" said Cowlquape, backing away a little more.

I sat down, cross-legged, and stared at him. "I came here to get away from it all. I'm tired of listening to the inane quarrels of the academics. I just wanted some peace and quiet." I paused. "Is that why you're here?"

"No," said Cowlquape. "I'm hiding from my superiors."

"Why?"

Cowlquape suddenly seemed to recognize me as the one who had been with the Professor when he had taken the vacant, haunted-looking young sky pirate captain to the School of Light and Darkness. "You heard me telling the Professor of Darkness that my father was a leaguesman," he said softly. "Well, a few minutes before the Professor ordered me to assist him, I had discovered that he was dead. The night before, the wreckage of a sky ship had fallen over Undertown."

Wreckage of a sky ship? Was it the Edgedancer? Most intriguing…but I pushed it to the back of my mind and continued to listen to Cowlquape's story.

"The rudder-wheel of the sky ship came crashing through the roof of the Palace of the Leagues," he said. "It crushed three leaguesmen, including my father, Ulbus Pentephraxis."

"I'm so sorry," I said, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder.

"Don't be," grumbled Cowlquape bitterly, turning away. "I cannot grieve over the death of such a cruel man. He wanted me to go into his trade. But I never had the brutality and greed that one needs to make it in the Leagues. He beat me raw every day, bullied and belittled me worse than even his subordinates, to try to toughen me up. When that failed, he sent me to Sanctaphrax to become an academic instead. But I wasn't cut out to get involved in all the intrigue and faction-fighting, so I never became anything more than a lowly junior sub-acolyte. It didn't help that the academics despise the leaguesmen. I don't blame them for that…bunch of pompous, greedy cutthroats, the lot of them. But all that kept me in Sanctaphrax were fees paid by the Leagues, and everyone knew it."

I was starting to understand Cowlquape's problem. "And with your father dead…" I said slowly.  
>"…nobody is paying the fees that secure my position," finished Cowlquape. "Since then, I've been hiding here in the Great Library, sneaking out only to steal food. When I'm found, I'll be expelled from Sanctaphrax, and I'll have to beg on the streets of Undertown. I'm ruined."<p>

"That's not fair," I said flatly. "You've done nothing wrong. Your father's death was beyond your control."

"Do you think the Professor of Cloud will care?" said Cowlquape with a bitter laugh. "I'm expendable. I'm the lowest of the low. Sanctaphrax has no use for me."

"I'll vouch for you," I said firmly.

"That won't mean anything," said Cowlquape. "You're an Undertowner too. The academics won't think twice about you."

Well, technically, I was from Second Earth, not Undertown. But Cowlquape wasn't to know that.

"I'm on speaking terms with the Most High Academe," I said. "You saw me with him. I'll talk to him. He can bail you out of this."

"He could, but he won't," said Cowlquape. "Yes, you know him. But I don't think you're in a position to ask those kinds of favors from him. Especially on behalf of a leaguesman's son…you saw the look he gave me."

I hated to say it, but Cowlquape was right. There was nothing I could do for him.

We spent a while talking, and soon the conversation turned to much more pleasant things. He told me all sorts of ancient stories and facts from the distant Deepwoods, far off to the west, and the knowledge of the forest cataloged by the earth-scholars before they were expelled from Sanctaphrax during the Great Purges. I won't repeat them all here, because they're so fascinating that if I told you one, I wouldn't be able to resist telling you all of them, and this journal would end up being three million pages long.

I really liked Cowlquape. There was an eagerness and intelligence about him that seemed so much more, I don't know, genuine than the babbling of the academics. I think people like Cowlquape are the future of First Edge. I haven't seen a lot of people like him, but if he could only make his voice heard…well, I suppose I should focus on stopping Saint Dane before I consider anything else. As long as his plans for this territory were thwarted, it would adhere to its natural destiny, and surely the future would bring new ideas. That's the way it's been on every territory of Halla.

The next two days, I went back to the Great Library and talked with Cowlquape again, leaving only to check up on Twig. I learnt just as much from him as last time. He was incredibly smart. He knew so much about the history of the Edge. He appreciated so much knowledge that the venerable professors of Sanctaphrax wouldn't turn a hair at. He understood the rich stew of information that could be gained by examining the past. Didn't that count for anything? How could the academics even think of casting him out?

The evening of that second day, I was sitting in Twig's study, trying for the zillionth time to talk to him, when an unfamiliar gong rang through the city. The Professor of Darkness entered the study.

"Twig, Pendragon, come with me. We shall be dining in the Refectory Tower tonight."

"The what?" I asked.

"As you know, we generally eat in the respective refectories or our own institutions," the Professor explained. "But every so often, the Council of Sanctaphrax calls for all of the academics to dine together, usually because they wish to mingle the departments in light of recent significant events." The Professor stared out the window at the gathering bank of purple clouds blowing in from Open Sky. "We need to discover the reason for these relentless storms."

"The Council of Sanctaphrax?" I said. "I thought you governed the city, as Most High Academe."

"Yes," said the Professor, fingering the Great Seal of Office, "But there is also the Council, which comprises the deans of the seven great schools. I also happen to sit on the Council, as the Professor of Darkness. They have some responsibilities and authority, as well as a disproportionate amount of influence in the election of the Most High Academe. But the Academe also retains veto power over most of their decisions."

Wow. There were so many complex systems of authority over various aspects of Sanctaphrax. No wonder everyone here acted so Machiavellian.

In a few minutes, we were walking through the tiled streets, heading for a tower I had never visited before, from which the gong was still clanging. Clusters of excited academics were making their way in the same direction, whispering amongst themselves. Man, did these guys ever shut up?

I followed the Professor and Twig through the great stone doors, and stopped in my tracks, blasted with a wave of steamy air carrying the smell of stew. This wasn't like the pleasant sensation of cooking smells drifting through a room. This was like being bowled over. I might as well have been hit by a bus. Fortunately, I didn't hate the smell. It wasn't that different from the smell of a meaty stew from Second Earth.

Through streaming eyes, I saw three main levels in the chamber. Up at the top, there were a bunch of ornate seats and beautifully carved tables, at which several important-looking professors were eating their bowls of stew, brought to them by servants staggering under the weight of heavily-laden trays. It was all very fancy. Positioned around the walls below were dozens of galleries in which lesser academics were waiting to serve themselves from large pots from which hundreds of pipes branched and merged, spreading all over the chamber. Then, in the center of this giant space, where the mess of pipes connecting the pots converged, there was the largest cooking vat I had ever seen in my life. You could have dropped a couple of whales in there and they would have had plenty of room to swim. This was the source of the stifling wall of stew-scented steam…and below this monster cauldron, hundreds and hundreds of low-level servants and academics were fighting to fill their bowls from the clusters of taps protruding from the underside.

"Come," said the Professor, leading Twig up a flight of stairs towards the high tables. I followed, shooting nervous glances at the academics. The Professor seemed intent that Twig's true identity should not become known. I had no doubt that his fears were well-founded; there was no telling what the academics might do if they learned that their Most High Academe was caring for the mentally ill sky pirate captain who had saved Sanctaphrax from the brink of ruination only a few weeks previously.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the Professor had failed to prevent this. Here and there, I heard apprentices and professors muttering about the individual with the Professor. I caught snatches of conversation that seemed to indicated that many of the academics had correctly guessed his identity. Many were pointing and laughing at his blank, haunted expression, pulling grotesque faces. I was now actually kind of glad that Twig was unaware of his surroundings.

In the meantime, I heard a lot of people discussing the weather as well. A portly, squat guy at the high table was droning on and on about "mind storms" and the emotional impact they were having on the Edge. I realized that this must have been the same kind of weather the sky pirates and I encountered during the quest to find Cloud Wolf. This explained the strange mood swings that were reported to be causing collective despair, giddiness, fear, and violence in rapid phases among the inhabitants of Undertown.

Suddenly, I caught sight of a familiar figure on the lowest level, snatching furtive glances at everyone around him. It was Cowlquape.

"Uh…hang on a second. I'll be right back," I said to the Professor. Before he could call me back, I had slipped away, and was jostling through the academics heading in the opposite direction. I made for where Cowlquape was standing.

Cowlquape had told me that he was hiding from his superiors because he couldn't pay the fees that were securing his tenure. So why was he here at the Refectory Tower, in plain sight of everyone? I had to figure this out.

I waved my arms in his direction. He turned, saw me, and his eyes widened. He beckoned to me, and I caught up with him in the crowd of hungry sub-acolytes.

"What are you doing here?" I muttered to him, as he filled his bowl with stew. "Why did you leave the Great Library?"

"It's the hunger," Cowlquape mumbled thickly, having just shoved a huge spoonful of stew into his mouth. "I couldn't take it. Normally I just steal food that's left unattended, but I haven't found any since the day before I met you. I'm counting on blending into the other sub-acolytes."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" I hissed. "I could have sneaked you some food from the dining hall of the School of Light and Darkness."

Cowlquape hung his head. "Sky above, I'm an idiot. Lack of food is keeping me from thinking straight."

"Well, I'll help you get out. Stay close to me. You can just take your stew back to the Great Library. And you don't need to leave it again; from now on I'll…"

Suddenly, Cowlquape was seized from behind by a tall, muscular apprentice. This guy looked nasty, leering down at Cowlquape as though he was a bug he was going to crush. A word which sprung to mind was, "bully". I was vividly reminded of all those times Andy Mitchell jumped you from behind when we went to school together, Mark. Before we found out he was actually Saint Dane, obviously.

"Well, well, well," sneered the guy in a taunting voice, "If it isn't our favorite little Undertowner!"

"Vox!" Cowlquape yelped, spinning around to face his captor.

"I hear somebody hasn't been paying his fees," smirked the guy. "Tut, tut. That won't do at all."

"Please!" implored Cowlquape desperately. "It's just that my father, he…"

"Save it for the Professor of Cloudwatching, barkworm!" snapped Vox, making to steer Cowlquape towards the exit.

I started towards Vox. I didn't know exactly what I was going to do. Perhaps I could make up some excuse for Cowlquape, or even use my Traveler persuasion powers. If the worst came to the worst, I could use my Batu warrior training to knock Vox into next week. He was a big guy, but for all his muscle and cockiness, he'd be no match for a trained fighter.

But I didn't get the chance to step in. At that moment, a harsh, thick downpour started outside. I felt my blood begin to boil, and knew it must be another mind storm. But the weather was affecting Cowlquape more strongly than me. I saw his expression switch abruptly from fear to rage.

"Professor of Cloudwatching?" he said, his voice growing louder with every word. "Professor of Cloudwatching?" Vox's eyes widened. Obviously he was the sort of guy who wasn't used to having junior sub-acolytes standing up to him. Cowlquape wrenched himself free of Vox's grip and bellowed, "You can give this to your Professor of Cloudwatching in place of payment!" And before Vox could react, Cowlquape had thrown the bowl of hot stew right into his face.

"Aaaargh!" screamed Vox, staggering backward, arms pinwheeling, boiling stew scalding his face. He collapsed into a group of hooded guys with checkerboard collars, knocking them off their feet and causing their own bowls of stew to fly in every direction. It was absolutely, totally awesome.

With that, Cowlquape spun on his heel and ran for it. I followed close behind. I had grown to like the poor guy, and wanted to ensure he would be okay.

I stepped outside into the swirling rain. The billowing, pulsing clouds overhead turned the sky pitch black, and my surroundings were illuminated only by the lights of Sanctaphrax and the relentless bolts of lightning. My emotions intensified as the rain fell harder. I felt the same sensations of fear, rage, and excitement which were flooding through Cowlquape. What was going on with the weather? It seemed from the academics' conversation that it was unusual, even as far as this bizarre territory went. Was Saint Dane behind it all? Was he influencing some kind of advanced society which had the power to sculpt natural processes, like he did on Zadaa?

Near the East Landing, Cowlquape suddenly turned, and realized I was following him. "Go back." he said sharply. "You can't help me. You'll get in trouble too."

"I'm not leaving you alone, Cowlquape. It's not fair. You shouldn't have to go through…"

A flash of lightning illuminated everything, turning night to day.

"Look!" Cowlquape shouted over the earsplitting roar of thunder, pointing out at the East Landing.

I peered in the direction Cowlquape was indicating. As a second fork of lightning sliced the air overhead, I saw a figure standing on top of the balustrade of the landing, arms spread out, as though preparing to jump. I recognized the figure in an instant. Twig. Cowlquape and I immediately dashed across the platform towards him. "Twig!" yelled Cowlquape. "Stop! Stop!"

I didn't know how he had gotten away from the Professor. I didn't know what was going through his Sky-touched mind. All I knew was that the Traveler from First Edge was about to throw himself to his death, and I couldn't let that happen.

But Cowlquape beat me to him. As he reached the balustrade, Twig lost his balance, wobbling and waving his arms. "NO!" screamed Cowlquape, grabbing Twig's waistcoat, which seemed to bristle and turn razor sharp at his touch. "Ouch!" Cowlquape yelled.

The weather changed. Glistening blue drops of rain fell, and our fear melted away, to be replaced with giddy happiness. I heard the professors and academics cheering back in the refectory. It seemed to strengthen Cowlquape, too, because he yanked Twig back effortlessly, causing him to topple back down to the ground. "Forgive me, Professor." I heard Cowlquape mutter. "I thought you were going to jump."

Twig stood up, and looked at Cowlquape. "You spoke?"

Oh, yeah. Twig was back.

"You spoke!" exclaimed Cowlquape in amazement. "They said you were dumb…"

Frowning, Twig put his finger to his lips. "I did," he murmured, looking lost in thought. He then stared at his surroundings in confusion. "But…what am I doing here? And who are you?"

"Cowlquape, Professor. Junior sub-acolyte, if it pleases you."

"Oh, it pleases me well enough," chuckled Twig. But then he froze, and looked back at Cowlquape. "Did you say…Professor?"

"I did," confirmed Cowlquape. "Although Sub-Professor would have been more accurate. You are the new Sub-Professor of Light—at least, if the rumors are to be believed."

Twig now looked utterly bemused. "This must be the Professor of Darkness's doing."

"He was the one who brought you back to Sanctaphrax," said Cowlquape. "From the Stone Gardens, they say. He…"

"The Stone Gardens," Twig muttered. "So I didn't imagine it. And yet…" he faced Cowlquape again, his face showing nothing but confusion. "Oh, why can't I remember? It's as if I've been in a dream. I remember my crew, the voyage, entering the weather vortex and then…nothing!"

"I can pick the story from there," I said, speaking up for the first time.

Twig spun around in amazement. "Pendragon!" he said, his eyes widening. "You're here too? And…you say you remember what happened?"

"Well, I lost my memory too, but everything came flooding back to me when I saw this." I pulled out the journal from the cloth sack at my belt, which I had taken to carrying it in. "I wrote part of our voyage down. It jogged all my memories."

I proceeded to explain to Twig about entering the vortex, about finding Cloud Wolf, and, horribly, how he faded away to nothing. I could tell that Twig was hurting after hearing that news, but he fought his emotions to continue listening to what I had to say.

"I didn't hear the final conversation you had with Cloud Wolf," I said. "But I know he conveyed something urgent to you. Something I must know."

"Well, thank you for filling me in," said Twig, "But I still have no memory of it myself. I have to take your word for it all."

My heart sank. "So…you don't remember what Cloud Wolf told you?"

"I'm afraid not," said Twig. "But who knows? With luck, my memory may return too."

"There's something else," I said, and hesitated. Was it wise to talk about the Travelers and Saint Dane and Halla in front of Cowlquape? I decided, rather recklessly, to go for it. Cowlquape had proved to be brave and intelligent, and somehow I felt he had a right to the truth as well. "But we'd better get out of this rain. I'll explain it all back in the Great Library."

In a few minutes, we were sitting in the library amidst the fallen, yellowed scrolls, shielded from the rain. I took a deep breath, and before I could think of a good way of pacing myself, of organizing my thoughts, I was spilling everything to them. I told them about the concept of Halla, of everything there ever was or ever will be, and that there were seven other worlds beyond this one. I told them about the Travelers, and how they were locked in a battle with a demon named Saint Dane, with all of humanity as the stakes. I told them about the flumes and the acolytes and the quigs and the rings. I told them how every territory of Halla was facing a turning point which could either bring prosperity or chaos, and that it was the Travelers' job to stop Saint Dane from pushing the turning points the wrong way. I gave them a brief rundown of the civil war on Denduron, the emergence of Faar on Cloral, the destruction of the Hindenburg on First Earth, the Reality Bug on Veelox (that one took a lot of explaining), the Advent of the gars on Eelong, the war over the rivers of Zadaa, the failure of the Revival on Quillan, and the dado attack on Ibara. Then, wrapping it all up, I explained how the war had now moved to this territory, First Edge, and that the death of Cloud Wolf served to clear the way for Twig, who was now ready to join the battle.

After I finished talking, there was a full ten seconds of complete silence. Then, Cowlquape whispered, "Sky Above."

Twig stared at me. "I wouldn't believe you," he said, "except that it's far too elaborate and detailed to be the work of a madman."

Cowlquape nodded in agreement.

"To think, if it weren't for you," Twig said, looking at Cowlquape, "First Edge would no longer have a Traveler, and this Saint Dane scoundrel would have a clear field. My mind was completely blank. And in a way, it still is. I can't recall anything…until just now, when you obviously stopped me from throwing myself to my destruction." Twig smiled at Cowlquape. "Thank you. What did you say your name was?"

"Cowlquape," he said. "And I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have saved you at all." His gaze dropped to his feet. "I should have joined you. I have nothing to live for!"

"Come, come," said Twig gently, putting a hand on Cowlquape's shoulder. "You can't mean that."

Cowlquape continued to stare at the ground. "I do. I'm an Undertowner. My father is dead and I have no fees to pay for my apprenticeship. When they find me, they'll throw me out of Sanctaphrax. What have I got to live for?"

A small smile appeared on Twig's face. "You saved me. I think I ought to repay the debt. You say I'm a Sub-Professor of Light."

Cowlquape looked up at Twig and nodded his head.

"In that case, I hereby appoint you as my apprentice, Cowlquip."

"Cowlquape," he said, his face brightening. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course," grinned Twig. "I'll need a smart young apprentice to look out for me now that I've finally woken up. I've got a lot to do. And…" he looked at me, then turned back to Cowlquape. "Since I've become the new Traveler from First Edge, I'm going to need an acolyte."

"I'll look out for you, professor. You see if I don't," said Cowlquape.

As I stared at them both, I couldn't help beaming. Cowlquape's future was secure, Twig was up to speed on the whole Traveler gig, and I now had two allies to assist me in the fight for First Edge.


	14. Journal 39, Part 7: First Edge

JOURNAL #39  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Twig and I were strolling through Sanctaphrax, talking in low voices. Such behavior was commonplace among the academics of the great floating city, of course…but seldom did these conversations turn to the future of all existence.

Ever since Twig had woken up and learned of his responsibilities as a Traveler, we had been immersed in continuous discussion. The first thing Twig had done was to fill me in on the basics of the territory. Of course, in the time I had spent here I learned plenty about Undertown, Sanctaphrax, and Open Sky, but those were only a few regions of First Edge.

To the west of Undertown, Twig had explained, lay the Mire, a stinking, polluted, wasteland of white mud, rendered dead from all the chemicals dumped there by the Undertown factories. No plants grew there, but it was home to many ferocious beasts, as well as unsavory scavengers who often posed as guides to those traveling to Undertown, but frequently robbed or murdered them.

Beyond that lay the Twilight Woods. According to Twig, the forest was in an eternal state of half-light, which abandoned people of their senses and health, but rendered them unable to die. It was there where stormphrax was created. To the north and south were the Edgelands, a barren, rocky wasteland full of swirling mists and spirits. I wondered how much of this was superstition and how much was scientific fact.

And then, there were the Deepwoods, which lay even farther to the west. I had heard of them before, of course, but knew nothing of them. Apparently, they took up the vast majority of the Edgeworld. The Deepwoods was a wild, savage forest full of murderous creatures and plants, as well as warring, marauding tribes which clashed against each other all the time. Undertown and Sanctaphrax had been founded as a means of escape from this untamed, cruel region. This made me uneasy. Undertown and Sanctaphrax were themselves full of injustice and cruelty. I didn't like to think how bad a place would have to be for its emigrants to consider life in the "twin cities" desirable.

I, in turn, gave Twig additional details about the war for Halla. I explained the way Saint Dane operated, that his ultimate goal was to prove that the people of Halla were too shortsighted and selfish to control their own destinies, and that furthermore, the only way to ensure prosperity would be if he ruled the universe and shaped the choices people made. I was pleased to see that Twig was outraged at Saint Dane's philosophy.

"That's nonsense!" he had cried angrily after I explained this to him. "People can't be perfect. Mistakes are made. But compare the Edge to the way it was five thousand years ago, before the twin cities even existed. Back then, everyone was either a slave or a master. Sure, some parts of the Edge are still that way, but we have some pockets of relative fairness and free thinking. Who knows where that could lead us in another thousand years? I don't see how that son of a gutter vulpoon expects the world to improve by appealing to our worst instincts."

"Exactly," I had said. "Now you see what we're fighting for."

On this particular day, Twig and I were trying to figure out what the turning point was. Of course, it was a daunting task. This territory was incredibly complicated, and there were all kinds of conflicts that could be the beginning of something larger. We ended up discarding most of our theories, not because they were flawed, but because there were simply too many for us to explore them all in depth. The only theory we kept coming back to was the strange weather. But since Saint Dane didn't have the power to bring in storms from Open Sky, we agreed that the storms themselves weren't as important as the decisions the inhabitants of the Edge made with regard to them.

That, unfortunately, didn't get us much further, as we hadn't yet heard of any big controversial schemes related to the weather…which we would be sure to hear if Saint Dane was indeed operating along those lines. Still, if that was going to be the turning point, there was no better place to find out more than in Sanctaphrax. The academics here studied the weather obsessively.

Suddenly, we heard something coming from a side alley that made us stop dead.

"Vox! You great big bully…_Unnkhh_!"

We turned the corner to see three goons dressed in the uniforms of apprentice cloudwatchers, ganging up on Cowlquape. Cowlquape was on the ground, clutching his head in pain, and one of the cloudwatchers was advancing on him, raising his cudgel and preparing to strike again. Twig and I crept towards them down the alley.

"Where's your so-called professor now, Undertowner, eh?" jeered Vox. "Where's brave Captain Twig, savior of Sanctaphrax?"

"Right here," Twig answered coldly, lunging for Vox, pulling back the arm holding the cudgel, and pinning it behind his back. Vox dropped the cudgel, howling in surprise and pain.

His two friends sprinted forwards to help, but I dashed to meet them, snatching up Vox's discarded cudgel. One of them threw a punch at me, disregarding the cardinal rule of fighting which Loor had bored into my head so long ago: _Never make the first move_. I knocked his fist aside with the cudgel and countered with two quick whacks to the side of his skull. The cloudwatcher stumbled backwards with a grunt. At the same time, I sensed the other cloudwatcher circling around and approaching from behind. I dodged his wild kick, and he stumbled forward, completely off balance. I smacked him in the back of the head, using his own momentum against him and sending him crashing to the ground. Vox's goons had had enough. They leapt to their feet, turned tail, and ran.

Twig shoved Vox away from him. "I believe my valued apprentice, Cowlquape, needs a hand," he said imperiously.

"Y…yes, sir," Vox mumbled, staring at the two of us.

"And dust off his robes while you're about it."

Cowering under Twig's icy gaze, Vox pulled Cowlquape to his feet and hastily brushed his robes.

"Now be on your way," said Twig imperiously. "And don't ever let me catch you bothering him again or you'll find yourself on a one-way basket trip to Undertown. Do I make myself understood?"

Humiliated, Vox nodded and slouched away. Twig turned to look at me. "You've been trained. By Sky, you might even be more skilled than Bogwitt was." he turned away.

"Thank you, Professor, Pendragon," gasped Cowlquape.

Grinning, Twig said, "How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Twig."

"Yes, Prof…Twig."

"And Cowlquape."

"Yes, Twig?"

"You dropped this." Twig picked up the discarded barkscrolls from the ground and handed them back to Cowlquape. "And don't get bark dust all over your nice new robes."

"No, Twig," Cowlquape beamed, following me and Twig as we headed back to the School of Light and Darkness.

Ten minutes later, we were back in Twig's study. Twig was seated at his desk, gazing at Cowlquape, who was eagerly reading a dusty old barkscroll. I was simply staring around at the various elements of the room; at the hanging armchairs, the peculiar stove filled with purple flames and floating wood, the untouched shelves of leather-bound books and light-measuring equipment.

"What's that you're reading?" asked Twig in a flat, uninterested voice.

Cowlquape looked up. "An old barkscroll, Professor. I found it in the Great Library—it's fascinating…"

"Call me Twig," interrupted Twig. He stared at Cowlquape for a few more moments, and then added, "I envy you, Cowlquape."

"Me, Twig?" said Cowlquape, surprised. "But why?"

"You can pick up a barkscroll and be transported off to goodness knows where," said Twig, indicating the scroll Cowlquape was holding. "I've watched you sit there for hours, poring over some scrap of bark, half eaten by woodmoths and barkworms, as if in a trance. Whilst I…I'm a sky pirate!"

Rising up from his chair, Twig walked over to the windows of his study and swung them wide open, apparently unperturbed by the freezing rain. "That is where I should be. Out there. Sailing the skies as captain of a sky pirate ship. Like my father and his father before him. It's in the blood, Cowlquape—and I miss it so. And besides," he added, turning towards me, "Surely the best way to live up to my newfound responsibilities as a Traveler is to be out there, chasing Saint Dane wherever he might turn up!"

One of the floating logs in the furnace started to drift out of the stove. Dropping his barkscroll, Cowlquape hastily grabbed it with a pair of fire tongs and shoved it back inside.

"Oh, Cowlquape," Twig went on, his gaze turning back to the sky outside of the window. "You have never heard the wind singing in the rigging, or seen the world laid out below you like a map, or felt the rushing of air in your hair as you sail across the sky. If you had, you would know what misery it is to be stuck in this poky study. I feel like a bird whose wings have been clipped."

"I love Sanctaphrax," Cowlquape replied. "I love its towers, its walkways; the Great Library—_and_ this poky study. But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." Looking sheepish, he dropped his gaze, staring at his feet. "And I'd follow you anywhere, even…" he waved his hand at the window. "Even out there, into open sky."

Wow. Now _that_ was loyalty.

Looking pained, Twig muttered, "There were others who followed me there."

"Your crew?"

"My crew," sighed Twig, now looking utterly miserable. "I don't know how, but if what Pendragon says is true, I killed them all, Cowlquape. You see how dangerous it can be putting your trust in me."

"Are you sure they're dead?" asked Cowlquape.

"Of course they're dead," Twig snapped. "How could they possibly have survived?"

"_You_ did. Both of you," said Cowlquape. Twig froze. So did I. My heart was racing. "I mean, did either of you actually see what happened to them?"

"See?" Twig said. "I can't remember! Did you see, Pendragon?"

"I lost sight of them in the explosion," I piped up.

"Can you remember _anything_ of that fateful voyage into open sky?" Cowlquape continued.

"Yeah, I got _my_ memory back. Don't you remember any of it?" I chimed in.

Twig looked at me, then stared sheepishly at the floor. "Well…I mean, I believe your account, Pendragon, but…no."

"Then how do you know they're dead?" Cowlquape repeated. "How many were on board the _Edgedancer_ when you set sail?"

"Nine, including Pendragon and myself. But…"

"The Professor of Darkness said nine shooting stars were seen flying through the sky." Cowlquape said in a rush.

"Cowlquape, what are you saying?" said Twig, a frown on his face.

Could it be true? Could the rest of Twig's crew be out there somewhere? What if Maugin was still alive? She was the only other person I knew who had learned Cloud Wolf's secret. Or what if another crew member had overheard Twig and Maugin's conversation, and had lived to tell the tale?

"I've said too much," said Cowlquape, looking frightened. "The professor told me not to talk to you about your former life. He said that it would only upset you…"

"Upset me? Of course it upsets me!" shouted Twig. "If I thought for an instant that any of them were still alive, I'd leave this place right now and find them, whatever it took. And not only for their sake, but for the sake of this territory. If they could jog my memory…"

"I think that's what the professor is afraid of," Cowlquape muttered. "Forget I spoke, Twig."

"Forget! I can't forget!" Twig bellowed. "Nine shooting stars, you say. One for each member of the _Edgedancer_. Cowlquape, think now, did the professor say where these shooting stars landed?"

"Well, I…I mean, I think…"

"I can answer that," said the Professor of Darkness, appearing in the doorway to the study. The three of us jumped in surprise.

"I should have known I couldn't make a professor out of you, Twig, my boy," the professor continued in a sad voice. "You're just like your father, a born adventurer—and like him, you're probably destined to be lost forever in open sky."

Twig grasped the professor's wizened old hand. "My father? So what Pendragon says is true?"

"Pendragon would know the full story better than I," said the professor, shaking his head. "I only know that he was swept away in the Great Storm many weeks ago, and hasn't been seen since." He stared at Twig intently. "Did you…? Out there…?"

"Pendragon says I did," said Twig miserably. "He says my father is dead. But as much as I believe him, I can't remember." He squeezed the professor's hand. "Professor, you must help me find my crew. As their captain, I made a promise never to abandon them, come what may. If there is even the _slightest_ chance that any of them are alive, then it is a promise I must keep."

The professor looked deeply worried. "But Twig, even if…"

"And maybe," Twig interrupted, "just maybe, my crew might help me retrieve my memory. For who knows what I might have forgotten—out there, in open sky. Something useful perhaps? To you, Professor. To Sanctaphrax."

The professor seemed to be considering, but I knew that Twig had convinced him. The Most High Academe would give anything to know what Twig had seen inside the weather vortex. Of course, I wasn't about to enlighten him, as it would mean a great many tedious hours describing exactly what the wind and rain were doing, not to mention having to gloss over all the Traveler parts.

"Very well, I can see that your mind is made up," said the professor finally. "Go in search of your missing crew, Twig, and with my blessing." With that, the professor reached into his robes, pulled out a leather pouch stuffed with fat gold pieces, and handed it to Twig. "For your journey. Use it wisely. Now follow me to my study and I shall show you the approximate position of the other shooting stars—if my calculations are to be trusted. A few fell not far, somewhere in Undertown. A couple fell farther off in the Deepwoods, Sky help them. And one—the final one—fell so far away that I couldn't track it with any certainty."

"Show me, Professor!" Twig said eagerly, and then turned to us. "Pendragon, Cowlquape, we're going to find my crew. To be reunited…" he fell silent for a moment. "Perhaps they will even be able to tell me about my father's final words…"

"Twig," the professor cut across him, looking stern. "Go charging off on this shooting star hunt if you must. And indeed, I see that you must. If he is willing, take Pendragon. But for Sky's sake leave the lad here, safe in Sanctaphrax where he belongs."

Cowlquape walked up to where Twig was standing, seized his arm, and stared at the professor. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I too have made a promise!"

* * *

><p>This is where I am going to end this journal, Mark and Courtney. We're in Undertown right now, and a lot has already happened since that day in Twig's study in Sanctaphrax, but this journal has gotten really long and I don't want anything to happen to it. Hell, I owe my memory to these pages. We have yet to find any of Twig's crew, but if they really are still alive, I don't doubt we'll find them. Or rather, I don't doubt Twig will find them. I'm still not too hot about my ability to navigate this territory.<p>

It feels good to have a clear goal again. There's probably a good chance we'll come up empty, but I can't think of a better way to discover the turning point of First Edge than by helping Twig relocate his lost crew members. And I hope we find them quickly, because time is of the essence. The turning point will not wait for us to get our bearings. Neither will Saint Dane.

Think of me. And keep on the lookout for my next journal.

Hobey-ho, let's go.

END OF JOURNAL #39


	15. Third Earth, Part 3

**~ THIRD EARTH ~**

"He's wasting his time!" Courtney burst out as they finished reading the pages of Bobby's Journal #39.

"What are you talking about?" said Mark, startled at Courtney's intensity.

"He shouldn't be setting off with Twig on this wild goose-chase," she said fiercely. "He should be focusing solely on the turning point of First Edge. Saint Dane set this up, I'm sure of it! He wants Bobby and Twig out of the way so he can work his evil unfettered!"

Mark stared at Courtney, and took a deep breath. "Okay, first of all, you say that like all of this is happening now. This adventure is already complete, remember? And Saint Dane is gone for good."

Courtney sniffed. "Well, he was still wasting his time."

"We don't know that," Mark argued. "Remember, they have no leads on the turning point, other than to try to unlock Twig's memories. And they might be able to do that by locating the crew of the _Edgedancer_. It seems logical to me."

"Well, I guess so…" Courtney agreed. "But you're saying we shouldn't care about what happened on First Edge?"

"No!" said Mark quickly. "I'm saying we shouldn't get too worked up about it…that's not the same as flat-out disregarding it. We can't say that what happened on First Edge is meaningless just because it's over and Saint Dane is finished. We're Bobby's acolytes. It's our duty to archive his adventures. And let's face it…Saint Dane trashed some territories worse than others. I mean, Eelong wasn't hit as bad as, say, Denduron or Quillan. And Earth took the worst pounding of all. The recovery of Halla isn't going to be uniform. If there were other battles we were unaware of, I think it's pretty relevant how they turned out in the short term. It might tell us something more about how all of existence has held up."

Courtney nodded, processing everything Mark had just said.

"Mark is right," said Press from behind them, making Mark and Courtney jump. They had completely forgotten he was there. "And what is more, it is important to remember all the events that took place to ensure it will never happen again."

"Okay," said Mark. "We've got two journals now. How many are there?"

"From First Edge?" said Press. "Five in all."

"Well, where's the next one?" said Courtney eagerly.

"Ah," Press said slowly. "Well, the remaining three journals are going to be somewhat trickier."

"What do you mean?" said Mark. "Where did Bobby put them? Are they in a different city? Or country?"

"They are in different _worlds_," answered Press. "The final three journals from the territory of First Edge were hidden on Denduron, Veelox, and Quillan."

"Oh," croaked Mark. "Yeah. That is going to be somewhat trickier."

"The flumes are gone!" said Courtney. "How are we supposed to get these journals?"

"That won't be an issue," said Press. "I can bring you between the worlds myself."

"Whoa, whoa, hang on," said Mark. "You're telling us that when Travelers move between territories, they can bring non-Travelers along for the ride?"

"Yes, we can," said Press simply.

"Bobby didn't seem to know about this," said Mark.

"I withheld that last little piece of information from him," Press explained. "There was no point for him to know, as it was one thing we definitely couldn't afford to do during our final stand. Just moving between worlds without a flume is a big enough drain on the spirits of Solara; carrying a non-Traveler with us is exponentially costlier."

"Oh, right. Of course," muttered Courtney softly.

"Ever since our victory here on Third Earth, positive energy has been pouring back in, slowly but steadily," continued Press. "We have the power to move you now. I hate to do it, but it is the only way. More worrisome is the fact that all three of these worlds are still under the direct control of Ravinia. Given time, they shall return to their natural destinies, but as of now they will be dangerous places to visit."

"Yikes," was all Mark managed to say.

"I will be there to help you," Press added. "I would never leave you alone in this quest. But it will still be risky."

They all stared at each other for a few seconds. Then, Courtney smiled slightly and said, "We're on the wrong territory,"

"Both of you, take my hand," said Press. "Hold tight, and in a second, we'll be on Denduron. Ready?"

Mark and Courtney nodded nervously. Mark held Press's left hand, and Courtney held his right. Press stepped forward, and Mark and Courtney followed…and their surroundings changed immediately.


	16. Denduron, Part 1

**~ DENDURON ~**

Mark and Courtney had never taken a trip to Denduron before, but their surroundings were unmistakable, having been described perfectly in Bobby's earlier journals.

They were standing at the base of a tremendous snowcapped mountain—although the small cave that once contained the flume gate was not visible. They were on the other side of the mountain. The three suns were low in the sky, casting a reddish-orange light over the landscape. Ahead of them lay a thick coniferous forest. What was more, Mark and Courtney could also see something that had not been described in any journal.

A great city stood a few miles in the distance, surrounded by a high stone wall. A large red banner hung every few hundred feet on the massive edifice, each emblazoned with a five-pointed star.

"I guess that's where we're headed," said Mark.

"Wait!" Courtney exclaimed, turning to Press. "Aren't we supposed to lose the Third Earth clothes?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Press. "Ravinia has done far more damage than we would ever do by failing to properly work within the rules of the territory. It would certainly be preferable to use clothes from Denduron, but we're not going to find any out here, are we?"

The other two shrugged. If Press Tilton himself wasn't too worried about it, they decided they shouldn't be either.

Press led Mark and Courtney into the trees, and in a few moments, they had found a narrow dirt track that wound away, further into the forest.

"So…" said Mark, "Can you tell us anything about what to expect here?"

"I'm afraid I can't," said Press, shrugging. "I've been spending most of my time observing events on Earth. I don't know any more about what has happened on Denduron than you do."

"Well," Courtney said, "I think it's a safe bet that we're headed straight for Ravinian territory."

After a half-hour or so of walking, Mark, Courtney, and Press noticed that the trees were thinning out. The track curved to the right, and when they rounded the corner, they were greeted with the sight of the outer wall of the city, looming up ahead of them. Two Ravinian banners flanked the gates, as did a dozen knights wearing Bedoowan armor.

"We'll never get past them," Mark groaned.

"Not necessarily," said Press. "If they think we're Milago or Bedoowan, we might stand a chance. But we probably can't pass for Ravinians. Let's just see what happens."

Press marched boldly forward, towards the vast gates of the city, Mark and Courtney trailing nervously behind. The knights caught sight of them when they were twenty feet away, and stood in front of the gates.

"Halt!" commanded the knight in the center. "State your names!"

"I am Press Tilton. This is Mark Dimond and Courtney Chetwynde," replied Press without the faintest sign of fear. "We are Milago citizens." The other two weren't so sure about Press's plan, but held their ground.

"What was your business outside of the city?" demanded the knight.

"We were foraging for wild vegetables," Press said immediately. "But we failed to find anything."

At once, six Bedoowan knights stepped forward. Mark, Courtney, and Press were each seized by two of them.

"The Horizon Class is expressly forbidden from poaching resources from the surrounding environment," said the first knight. "All three of you are under arrest."

Press had clearly chosen the wrong lie.

"What do we do?" hissed Mark to Press.

"This wasn't exactly what I planned, but we may well be able to make the most of it," Press muttered. "They'll drag us into the city. That's when we'll make our move."

"Silence!" barked one of the knights restraining Press. "Do not resist or you will be destroyed."

_Destroyed_ turned out to be precisely the right word. Mark and Courtney suddenly noticed that every one of the Bedoowan knights had two things clipped into their belts aside from their swords. The first was a sleek wooden slingshot. The second was a small pouch filled with reddish-brown clay.

Tak.

Mark and Courtney had read all about the deadly substance that was responsible for the fall of Denduron. It was highly volatile…a small shock or vibration could cause it to explode. A tiny lump of tak was enough to create a large fireball. Each knight was armed with enough tak to vaporize the three of them twenty times over.

Whatever Press had meant when he said "make our move", Mark was praying that it was a good plan, or they'd end up as smoking craters.

As the gates creaked open and the Bedoowan knights dragged Mark, Courtney, and Press through the entrance, they all gasped at the sight that lay ahead of them.

The city before them was built on two levels. On the upper levels, magnificent homes and castles were bedecked with more Ravinian banners. Well-fed, clean people dressed in the clothes of Milago and Bedoowan were moving about on tall stone viaducts that spanned the upper streets. As the suns fell further in the sky, ornate lampposts of wrought iron began to glow, the triptyte crystals within emitting a pleasant blue-white glow over the higher walkways.

What was so striking about this city, however, was not how fancy and comfortable the upper levels were, but the filth and squalor of the ground level.

The unpaved streets were lined with bare, windowless structures made of mud and supported by a sparse network of worn wooden struts. Trash and raw sewage were piled in the corners of the alleys, emitting an overpowering smell. The few people out in the streets were filthy and emaciated. Even the triptyte lampposts above seemed to have been meticulously engineered so that no light penetrated the lower levels, and everything was cast into deep shadow.

Mark and Courtney glanced at Press, who silently mouthed the words "Follow my lead".

With that, Press slowly wriggled his hands towards the pouches of tak in the knights' belts. Mark and Courtney copied him, doing their best to avoid attracting the notice of their captors. Miraculously, they all managed it without detection.

"On my command," whispered Press, "lob the tak as far as you can. Then, wrench free of their grasp."

The Bedoowan knights turned a corner, pulling us down a wide, dark avenue lined with more of those featureless buildings.

"Now!" Press shouted suddenly.

Six pouches of tak went flying into the air. As though in slow motion, they sailed in a wide arc and came back down. When they hit the ground, there was a sharp crackling hiss. Then…

BOOOOM!

A massive wall of fire erupted in front of them, making the ground tremble. Screams could be heard on the upper platforms as Ravinians on the viaducts dove for cover.

As one, Mark, Courtney, and Press twisted and yanked their arms to the side. The Bedoowan knights hadn't expected this, but didn't appear to register surprise or anger. Instead, they coolly lunged for their quarry. Press rammed the nearest knight, who fell backwards with no reaction.

"Dados," he muttered. "I should have known."

He pulled Mark and Courtney forward, and a second later they were dashing down the boulevard, the dado knights in hot pursuit. They weren't as dangerous as they would have been with their tak pouches, and could no longer attack from a distance, but they were still fast runners, and were brandishing their swords. It was time to get lost.

They dashed down side streets and took random paths, desperate to shake off the dados. They were having very little luck. Slowly but surely, the dados were gaining. And then, just as the three of them were bracing themselves to turn and fight…

"In here!"

A hunched old Milago woman was waving at them from the doorway of one of the buildings. The dados hadn't yet rounded the bend…if Mark, Courtney, and Press ducked inside, they would not be seen. Without giving it a moment's thought, they obeyed the woman, who immediately reached out and slammed the door shut.

"Thank you," gasped Mark, turning to the elderly woman. "You saved us."

"There is no need for gratitude," she said, waving aside their apologies. "I did my duty."

"Duty?" said Courtney. "Who are you?"

"My name is Urwa," the woman said. She reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a large, gray ring. "I was Alder's acolyte. Welcome to Denduron."


	17. Denduron, Part 2

**~ DENDURON ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

"I was, of course, thrilled to hear the news that Saint Dane has been defeated," said Urwa, "After all, I witnessed my husband murdered by the demon."

"You're the woman Bobby mentioned in his second journal!" said Mark in amazement. "I remember that story."

Urwa nodded gravely. "Yet I fear that many more will die as a result of Saint Dane's murderous quest. He may be gone, but Ravinia is still active on Denduron, as you have seen. It is still active on most of the worlds, in fact."

"Without Saint Dane, Denduron will eventually be reborn," assured Press. "It is only a matter of time before everyone in Halla reclaims their freedom."

"Yet this old bag of bones may not live to see it," Urwa sighed.

"You shall see it," Press replied. "If not as a physical being, than as a spirit of Solara. But never mind all that…you were expecting us?"

"Indeed I was," said Urwa. "Pendragon himself paid a visit to Denduron to inform me that I should be on the lookout for Press and the acolytes from Second Earth. Why don't you come in? We can talk once we are all settled."

The inside of the building was no better than the outside. The room was illuminated by greasy tallow candles which sputtered and stank. There were two chairs and a table, upon which sat the remains of a pitiful meal of watery soup and stale bread. A straw mattress was crammed into the corner. There were a few doors leading off the room which seemed to lead to identical chambers, in which I saw some other residents of the building.

"As you can see, life in the Horizon Compounds isn't terribly comfortable," said Urwa, her lined face twisting in a bitter smile. "This city may be impressive, but it's nothing compared to the capitol of the Empire, where the Milago village once stood. Ravinia has organized every one of their settlements on Denduron in this way; the Ravinians live a comfortable existence in the conclave spanning the upper levels of every city, and the Horizon Class is crammed into the slums below. There are twenty others living in this building. I'm one of the lucky few who don't need to share a room with someone else."

"Lucky?" Mark said, looking appalled. "I can think of a lot of words to describe your situation. 'Lucky' is definitely _not_ one of them."

Urwa shook her head. "You think I have it bad? You should see how the Lowsee live."

"The Lowsee?" said Courtney.

"The tribe native to this region," Urwa explained. "They once mined triptyte and traded with the Bedoowan for glaze. When the Milago left the mines, the Bedoowan had nothing to trade, so the Lowsee cut off their relations with them. The Milago and Bedoowan responded with a bloody assault on the Lowsee village, assisted by tak, naturally. It was only the beginning. Now, a vast empire stretches across all of Bedoo and parts of Nodd and Galla, united under the Ravinian flag. Hundreds of tribes all over Denduron have been subjugated, and the Ravinians silence any resistance with tak."

"So what happened to the Lowsee?" Mark said, horrified.

"They are slaves to Ravinia," replied Urwa. "They are not allowed to live or sleep in aboveground shelters, under penalty of death. From the age of six, they are put to work in the glaze mines, where they labor until they die from the toxic gas filling the underground. They are beaten mercilessly if they fail to mine enough glaze…which is most of the time. I believe you would be hard-pressed to find a group of people anywhere else in Halla who are so grievously brutalized."

Urwa sighed again. "This brings me to the information that Pendragon wished me to share with you."

"Yes?" Mark said eagerly.

Urwa looked at him for a moment, and then said, "You are seeking Pendragon's journals from First Edge, correct?"

"We are," confirmed Press.

"Do you have it?" Courtney said.

Urwa shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Pendragon did not wish to hide his journal directly within the walls of a Ravinia-controlled settlement. At least, not one that was so thoroughly policed."

"Well, then, where is it?" said Mark apprehensively.

"The third journal is waiting for you within the glaze mines," said Urwa. "On the seventeenth level."


	18. Denduron, Part 3

**~ DENDURON ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

Urwa didn't have many possessions, let alone weapons, so she wasn't able to offer Mark, Courtney, and Press any equipment to help them on their mission. If she had, they would probably have felt too guilty to take it from her anyway. However, she did accompany them back to the edge of the city.

Night had fallen by now, and the ground levels were completely dark. All they could do was follow the distant triptyte glow far above their heads. It helped that Urwa knew her way around the city.

Mark, Courtney, and Press had assumed that Urwa was taking them back to the outer gates, but they seemed to be following a completely unfamiliar route.

"Uh, where are we going?" Mark muttered softly.

"We cannot leave through the main gates; dados guard the entrance to the city day and night," explained Urwa. "There are a few people who silently oppose Ravinia, and they have created some secret routes in and out. You are going to use one of them to make your escape."

"And then where do we go?" whispered Courtney.

"There are only three roads leading out of the city," said Urwa. "Each heads in the direction of one of the three sunrises. The path leading towards Noab's sunrise goes to the capitol of the Empire...it is the path you followed to arrive. The path leading towards Rigg's sunrise goes to a fishing settlement that is two days' walk from here. And the path leading towards Lao's sunrise—the path you must take—goes to the glaze mines. When you get out of the city, turn right and walk along the outer wall. It will be the first path you come to. The mines themselves are maybe two marrs away on foot."

"Marrs?" Courtney said, puzzled.

"A marr is about fifty-seven minutes," explained Press. He turned to Urwa. "What do we do when we get there?"

"Descend to the seventeenth level," replied Urwa. "The journal is waiting for you somewhere there. Beyond that, I do not know."

They continued walking for a few moments, and then Urwa stopped in front of the great outer wall of the city. "There is a small hole dug underneath the wall here," she said. "It is large enough to admit you. I must now return to the Horizon Compound…good luck."

Mark, Courtney, and Press listened to Urwa's footsteps retreating, then huddled up, only just able to discern each other in the darkness.

"Let's feel around until one of us finds it," said Mark. Courtney and Press nodded in agreement, and they all began their search.

It didn't take long.

"Aaahh!" Mark cried as he put his foot down and found only air. He stumbled forward and pushed on the wall to keep himself upright. If he hadn't reacted quickly enough, he would have twisted his ankle.

The three of them froze, scared, listening. Mark's scream might have alerted the Ravinians to their presence. Ten seconds later, however, they heard nothing. Nobody was coming. They all breathed a sigh of relief.

"What happened?" said Courtney.

"I…I think I found the hole," said Mark.

They all gathered around Mark, who stepped to the side. "You two, go first," said Press softly. "I'll be right behind you."

Taking greater care this time, Mark slid down into the hole and began to crawl on his belly. There was very little room, but he could move forward. Behind him, he heard Courtney dragging herself along too.

After several more moments, the space opened up, and Mark was able to clamber out. He had made it. Courtney surfaced a moment later, and after some more waiting, Press joined them.

"Okay, let's go," he said.

Following Urwa's instructions, they turned right and walked along the wall. For a few minutes, they saw nothing. Then…

"Look!" hissed Mark, throwing out his arms and catching Courtney and Press. Standing maybe twenty yards ahead of them was another group of dado knights, standing in front of a second, smaller gate into the city.

"That's gotta be the road to the glaze mines," said Courtney, pointing to a barely-visible track leading from the gate into the woods.

"We should move out into the trees before setting foot on that path," said Press. "I don't know exactly how good the dados' night vision is, and we can't risk being spotted."

Trying not to make a sound, the three of them left the wall, heading for the dark outlines of the trees. When they were far enough inside the woods, they turned and moved towards the point where they knew the path to be. A few moments later, their feet found the dirt track, and they turned left, setting off for the glaze mines.

For the first time, Mark looked closely at his surroundings. It was pretty tough to see anything clearly because of the darkness, but the starlight cast a very faint glow over the forest.

The trees didn't look that much different from plain old birches on the Earth territories, but upon closer inspection the needles were flatter and broader, shaped like slender diamonds. A lot of the things in this forest seemed that way—totally ordinary at first glance, but slightly unusual when examined closely.

One thing about this forest that was definitely different from Earth was the insect noise. There were no cricket chirps, but Mark could still hear the noises of nocturnal bugs. None of these noises were like anything Mark had heard from insects at home; some of them sounded almost comically like sci-fi laser pulses.

Like all the worlds, Denduron was a uniquely beautiful place, Mark thought. Every territory had its own distinct elements. Yet Ravinia had torn down so much of it. His resolve to learn about the battle for First Edge intensified…he had to know what happened.

Of course, it probably didn't matter if Bobby had won or lost, Mark reflected glumly. Every world had fallen to Ravinia eventually. Still, many of the worlds which the Travelers saved initially had held up a little better than the ones Saint Dane wrecked from the start. Whatever the Edge became, Mark hoped with all his heart that it would return to its natural destiny as soon as possible.

After about two hours (or marrs) the path opened out into a large, flat clearing where the trees had been burned away. The sight that greeted Mark, Courtney, and Press was horrible.

A large wooden mine shaft was erected in the center of the clearing. Groups of skeletal, dark-skinned Lowsee miners shuffled in and out of the structure, chained together and carrying large cloth sacks over their shoulders. They would stride over to a platform, dump the contents of the sack onto a huge pile of brilliant blue glaze stones, and trudge back into the mines. Their headgear was fitted with small, blue, glowing balls of triptyte, but the hats themselves were simply wooden bands with a vertical brace on top. They offered meager light, but would do nothing to protect the miners' heads.

A collection of sturdy barracks stood on the other side of the clearing, housing Milago guards. In the space all around the mine shaft, stretching all the way to the edge of the clearing, haphazard groups of groaning Lowsee lay on their backs, tossing and turning fitfully. Mark and Courtney remembered what Urwa had said about the Lowsee being forbidden to sleep in buildings. Nearly all of the older miners were gripped with racking coughs and tremors.

But that wasn't the worst part. Urwa had informed the three of them that miners who failed to meet quota were beaten…but she hadn't told them how.

Standing perpendicular to the Milago barracks was a long line of identical wooden structures, sort of like guillotine frames without the blade or the stocks. Nearly all of them contained Lowsee who were suspended by their ankles from rough ropes attached to the tops of the frames. Each of them had been stripped naked. Some of them were kids.

This alone looked painful enough, but behind each dangling Lowsee was a Milago guard brandishing a whip. These were not ordinary whips, however. Each time one of the whips struck, there was a tiny orange flash that stood out vividly in the darkness. The chorus of shrieking and howling coming from the tortured Lowsee nearly brought Mark to his knees. Whenever a whip struck, the Milago torturer seemed to pause a few seconds, almost like he was recharging it.

"What's happening to them?" Courtney breathed, appalled, as more orange flashes lit up the side of the clearing, accompanied by a fresh wave of earsplitting screams.

"The ends of those whips must be coated with tak dust," replied Press. "It doesn't explode, but those flashes will cause painful burns."

At that moment, an outbreak of shouting came from the enormous pile of glaze. A group of Milago guards were bellowing at three terrified-looking miners.

"You imbeciles call this a load?" roared a guard. "There is not enough between the three of you to fill one sack!"

"Please!" begged one of the Lowsee. "We have nearly exhausted the third level. We would bring up more glaze if only we were reassigned to a deeper tunnel."

"The third level is nearly exhausted, is it?" sneered another guard. "This is your expert opinion?"

"A level is exhausted when we tell you it is exhausted!" shouted the first guard. "If you are too lazy to search properly, that is not our fault."

"We have done the best we can," pleaded the miner. "Already we are spending most of our shifts digging new tunnels."

"If you have done the best you can," growled the second Milago, "then we will convince you to do better than the best. Boggor, get this filth out of my sight."

Screaming for mercy, the three miners were dragged away by several of the guards, headed straight for the whipping stations.

"I can't bear to see any more," said Courtney. "Let's just go down there and get that journal."

They made their way through the crowds of sickly Lowsee lying all around them, drawing closer and closer to the mine shaft. They feared a Milago guard would spot them any second, but nobody seemed to pay them any heed.

They slipped into the mine amidst a weary mass of Lowsee carrying empty sacks. The tunnel sloped down steeply, opening out into a circular chamber. One side was taken up by a pile of sacks, and the other was strewn with triptyte hats. Mark, Courtney, and Press each took a hat and fitted it over their heads. They were heavy and awkward, but they allowed them to see into the next passage.

After walking down the next passage, they found a large elevator shaft waiting for them. The elevator was unlike any Mark and Courtney had ever seen. The platform was open and shaped like a heptagon. A central column extended from near the ceiling to the black depths of the shaft. Seven ropes trailed from the top of the tube and fanned out like the spokes of a wheel, each one tied to a different corner of the platform. A large, heavy crank was attached to one side of the elevator, clearly to move it up and down.

The three of them stepped onto the platform, and Press began to turn the crank. They descended lower and lower, past several wide tunnels through which they could see Lowsee feebly digging through the soil. As they dropped lower, the sickly sweet smell of toxic gas grew stronger. Additionally, the deeper they dropped, the fewer the tunnels they saw branching off of the central shaft.

Finally, Press stopped the crank, and they came to a halt outside a single tunnel stretching off into blackness. "The seventeenth level," he said. "This is where Urwa said we'd find the journal."

They ventured down the tunnel, their triptyte hats casting a faint bluish light over everything. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary…it was just like all the other passages they had seen. They wandered on in this vein for a few minutes, breathing in the sweetish stench and gazing around nervously. Then…

"Hey, look!" Mark said, pointing at the wall. There was a thick pile of splintered wood, haphazardly covered in piles of loose dirt. "I think there's something back there. Could it be…?"

"Let's find out," said Press, seizing a piece of wood and wrenching it aside. They gradually cleared away the obstruction, bit by bit, until they had produced a hole large enough to fit through. Then, they entered one after the other to find…

A collection of barkscrolls were lying on the ground in a small side chamber.

"Score!" shouted Mark enthusiastically. "Let's take those and get out of here."

But as Press reached down and picked it up…

"Milago!"

Mark, Courtney, and Press turned to see a group of angry Lowsee visible through the hole in the wall. They realized that since they lacked the dark skin of the Lowsee, they bore an unfortunate resemblance to the Milago.

"I am surprised to see Milago down here," sneered the leader, a muscular guy holding a sharp instrument that looked like a double-curved pickaxe. "You are usually too cowardly to brave the mines yourselves. But no matter—you are on our turf now. None of your sadistic friends will be able to hear you scream."

The Lowsee stepped through the hole, his compatriots following. They were bearing down on Mark, Courtney, and Press, their eyes narrowed with anger and hatred.

"Grab hold of me!" shouted Press. "Now!"

Mark and Courtney seized Press's hands, just as he stepped forward…

…and transported somewhere else.

Mark and Courtney let go of Press and stood there, panting. A second later, they stared around curiously to see where they were now.

Wherever they had landed, it was dark. They were still wearing the triptyte hats, and their glow revealed a dusty underground corridor. Unfamiliar machines stood here and there, all silent and unmoving, and walls were lined with narrow light strips, all of them dead.

"What is this place?" said Courtney.

"The basement of the Rubic City Lifelight pyramid," said Press. "The next journal is on Veelox."

"Wow," gasped Mark. "You rescued us just in the nick of time."

"I can hardly blame those miners," sighed Press. "They have every right to be furious at the Milago."

"Yes, well, never mind that now," said Courtney impatiently. "We've got the journal! Let's read the next part of the story."


	19. Journal 40, Part 1: First Edge

JOURNAL #40

FIRST EDGE

If I wasn't convinced before, I am now. This territory is hell.

Reflecting on some of the things that I've witnessed since my last journal, it's hard to believe that First Edge hasn't _already_ spiraled into chaos, and that we aren't too late to stop Saint Dane's plans, whatever they are.

But First Edge is indeed still in the running. How do I know? Because Saint Dane has finally revealed himself to me.

It hasn't all been bad. We're making good progress on our quest, but we've still got a long way to go. One thing for sure: when the battle for First Edge is over, I'm gonna need an even longer break than last time.

Anyway, here's what happened after I sent you my last journal…

The following day, we left the School of Light and Darkness and made for the East Landing, where the baskets would take us to Undertown. Cowlquape, Twig, and I were going to begin the search for the crew of the _Edgedancer_.

Under normal circumstances, I would have tried to dissuade Twig from bringing his acolyte with him. The point of an acolyte is to look after the Travelers, but in subtle, indirect ways. They aren't supposed to get their hands dirty. If something happens to a Traveler, at least their acolyte should survive to continue assisting the other Travelers. I had felt uncomfortable enough during the war on Zadaa when Loor's acolyte, Saangi, had been tagging along after us, though she did end up saving our bacon a few times. But I knew that some acolytes just wouldn't be content to sit on the sidelines, and there would be no persuading them to do so. Cowlquape was one of them. And in any case, he didn't have a Traveler ring, so even if he did stay in Sanctaphrax, there would be no way we could contact him for help.

We arrived at the edge of the wooden landing, and sat cross-legged on the ground while we waited for a hanging-basket to arrive. Twig got up and walked to the side to see how much longer we had to wait. I simply sat next to Cowlquape, who was, as usual, buried in one of his barkscrolls.

"Cowlquape," said Twig softly. "The basket will soon be here."

Cowlquape started and put down the barkscroll, staring at Twig, who smiled. "Trust you. We're just about to set off on an arduous, not to say possibly futile, quest and you've got your nose stuck in a scroll."

"Sorry, Twig, but this particular scroll really is fascinating."

Twig grinned. "You're dying to tell me about it, so go on then."

"It's _The Myth of Riverrise_, Prof…I mean, Twig."

"What, that old tale?" Twig said, suddenly looking overcome by nostalgia. "Spelda, my mother—or rather the woodtroll who raised me as her own—used to tell it to me when I was a young'un."

"What's _The Myth of Riverrise_?" I asked curiously.

"It's an old legend about how the world was created," Twig explained. "_Once upon a velvet blackness came a spark…_oh, how my heart thrilled when she spoke those words. Of all the many tales she told, _The Myth of Riverrise_ was always my favorite."

"_The spark turned. And the wind breathed. And the rain cried…_" Cowlquape chimed in, reading from the scroll in his hand.

"_And the sun smiled,_" said Twig, nodding. "_And the first minute of all minutes came to pass_." they both recited in unison.

Cowlquape's face shone with excitement. "You know it off by heart!"

"_The Myth of Riverrise_ is told in every corner of the Edge," Twig said. "I heard it in the caverns of the termagant trogs, I heard it on board the _Stormchaser_—different versions, but essentially the same. What you've got there is the classic."

"It makes sense of things," Cowlquape said thoughtfully.

Playing with the ends of his scarf, Twig looked back at Cowlquape with a solemn expression. "Sometimes there is truth buried in the old tales."

Cowlquape pondered Twig's words. "Do you think, then, that somewhere out there is the place where it all began?"

"That _the Mother Storm did strike the highest point of that barren, jutting rockland and seed it with life_?" Twig replied. "Why not? I've seen many strange things out there in the Deepwoods, in the Twilight Woods…" his voice trailed away suddenly.

"What is it, Twig?" Cowlquape said, looking worried.

"There _is_ something," muttered Twig, gazing out towards the endless expanse of Open Sky. "I'm sure of it. Something I can't remember. Something I _must_ remember…"

"The turning point," I cut in. "We must unlock your memories, Twig."

"Twig, Pendragon," said Cowlquape, "The basket-puller's arrived."

We all piled into the basket, which began to descend. The gnokgoblin basket-puller sitting above us and turning the crank looked down at us. "A lot of weather we've been having recently. But then I'm sure I don't have to tell you three that."

It was clear that the gnokgoblin was hoping we would explain the source of the violent storms. Twig and Cowlquape remained silent, and I copied them.

After an uneventful trip in the basket, we were walking through the streets of Undertown once more. All the chaos and confusion and noises and smells battered me once again. After the dignified manners of Sanctaphrax, this stinking, sweating, thronging mass of bodies was particularly unnerving. We had landed in a part of the city full of artisans, and everyone was hard at work, deafening noises coming from the leather and glass and metal shops and stalls (the metal was more of that wood stuff, naturally).

"This way, you two," said Twig, indicating a narrow alleyway off to the side. "We need to be methodical, so let's start by visiting all the taverns in the east of Undertown."

"But I'm not thirsty," Cowlquape protested, looking uneasy.

"Nor am I, Cowlquape. But there's plenty that are—traders, slavers, merchants and skysailors. And when they drink, Cowlquape, they talk. And when they talk, we'll listen. And maybe, just maybe we'll hear something. Stay close, and keep your eyes and ears open."

"I'm a good listener," smiled Cowlquape, as he and I pursued Twig through the bustling streets.

We went on to visit tavern after tavern. They were all filthy little inns, full of shouting drunk guys. None of them were pleasant, and none of them gave us any sort of information. It was an exhausting afternoon.

As we emerged from the Redoak Tavern, Cowlquape yawned. "Which one should we…try next?"

"No more for this evening," said Twig with a smile. "We'll take lodgings for the night and resume our search tomorrow."

Cowlquape seemed nervous. "You want to spend the night here in Undertown?" I wasn't so hot about it myself.

"We're on a quest to find my missing crew, Cowlquape. We can't go scurrying back to Sanctaphrax every time we get cold or wet or tired, can we?"

"No, I suppose we can't," said Cowlquape in a resigned voice.

Um, why couldn't we? But I was too tired to argue.

We went back inside the Redoak and took up a small room above the tavern. There was a pair of straw mattresses and a pitcher full of fresh water. We all swilled some of the water in our mouths and spat. It wasn't exactly a tube of Crest, but it was better than nothing.

"I guess I'll take the floor," I said dully, and tried to make myself comfortable, with no success whatsoever. Twig and Cowlquape climbed into the mattresses.

"Goodnight, you two," said Twig. Then, he suddenly jerked upright. "What did you say? Cowlquape? Pendragon?"

Cowlquape was already sound asleep. He turned towards me. I shook my head. I hadn't heard anything. That was weird. Twig seemed to have heard a voice inside his head. Maybe it was a residual effect of the mental turmoil he had been going through. Thinking no more about it, I rolled over and, despite the hard floor I was lying on, I was out like a light.

We slept in the next morning, then ate a big breakfast and continued our search. We walked through another section of Undertown, traveling in a great loop and visiting taverns all the while. At the end of the day, we went back to the Redoak and slept there yet again. This time, Twig took the floor, but I was little better off on the dry, scratchy straw. At least it was better than that filthy gar stable on Eelong. We continued on like this for two more days, rising at noon and retiring at midnight.

On the fourth day, we were trudging through a really run-down, tough part of the city, near that place where all the sky ships docked (the 'boom-docks', Twig said it was called). We were approaching another tavern called the Lullabee Inn, which had an elaborately decorated tavern sign depicting a tree with a huge, knobbly trunk, fan-like branches, and the remnants of some giant cocoon dangling down from the canopy. Twig suddenly started again, and looked at Cowlquape. "What do you know about lullabee trees?"

Cowlquape seemed bewildered. "Me? Nothing, Twig."

That was odd. It seemed like Twig was hearing that voice again.

"Well, we might as well try here," said Twig, frowning. "Come on, look lively, we…"

CRASH!

The front right window of the tavern was smashed into a thousand pieces as a large wooden log bench flew through it. Then, a barrel burst through the glass in the door, only just missing Twig and Cowlquape, before bursting in a shower of dark red liquid which seeped like blood over the cobbled street behind us. The two of them staggered in alarm and fell flat on their backs. I stepped back nervously, but remained on my feet. Through the shattered glass, we could hear voices.

"Like I say, Motley," roared a gruff voice, "accidents can happen."

"Yeah." snarled another voice. "Troughs can get damaged. Barrels can get broke." Loud splintering noises accompanied the words.

"And faces can get rearranged," a third voice growled, "If you get my drift."

A terrified, high-pitched voice responded, "Yes, yes."

Twig and Cowlquape got to their feet, and the three of us stared tentatively through the hole in the door. The tavern was illuminated by an eerie, turquoise light, revealing a scene of splintered wreckage and upended barrels. A small individual with mottled skin and tufted hair, presumably the landlord of the Lullabee, was surrounded by three of the ugliest individuals I had ever seen. They were tall, muscular, and filthy, covered with elaborate tattoos and sporting several tight gold rings around their long necks. Their heads were elongated, as through their skulls had been grasped at either end and stretched, and their furious, beady eyes were positioned at either end, so that they were at least a foot apart. Their ears were each half as long as their heads and filled with gold hoops. Perhaps most importantly, each of them had long, curved sickles at their belts, each thoroughly chipped and bloodstained.

Twig caught me looking at them in horror and disgust. "Hammerhead goblins," he whispered. "One of the most unsavory goblin tribes ever to emerge from the Deepwoods."

"Times are hard," said the landlord in a trembling voice. "Takings are down. I just d…don't have the money."

Twig looked furious, his eyes blazing. "How I hate to see the strong picking on the weak." I nodded in agreement.

"There are too many of them," Cowlquape said urgently, laying his hands on our arms. "You'll get hurt…"

Twig and I brushed his hands away. "Perhaps we should also have left you to be beaten up by that apprentice cloudwatcher," said Twig.

Cowlquape reddened, looking humiliated.

"It's okay, Cowlquape. You stay here if you want to. But I'm going in. Are you with me, Pendragon?"

I nodded.

Twig opened the door. The creaking hinges alerted the hammerheads to our presence. They turned to stare at us, leering unpleasantly.

"Evening," Twig said, his voice betraying no sign of fear. That was fine. I was scared enough for the two of us. "Evening, Motley. Two goblets of your finest sapwine if you'd be so good." Glancing over his shoulder, he added, "And one for my other friend here, as well." I turned, and saw that Cowlquape had changed his mind. He had followed us inside.

"I…we're just about to close," said Motley uneasily.

Yeah, right. There were a ton of other guys in here, standing against the corners of the bar, in varying states of drunkenness and fear, none of whom appeared as though they intended to leave. All the same, I couldn't blame Motley. The last thing he needed right now was a new group of customers complicating the situation.

"No wonder business is so bad," growled the first hammerhead. "Turning away your customers like that!" He examined us, and gave us an evil grin that showed off a set of dark-gray false teeth that gleamed in the light of the turquoise fire. "Take a seat," he said, gesturing with a knife towards one of the few benches the goblins hadn't thrown.

Cowlquape turned to walk towards the benches, but Twig pulled him back. I remained rooted to the spot.

"Sit down!" bellowed the hammerhead.

Motley attempted to step in, looking terrified. "Just do as they say. I'll be with you directly."

None of us moved.

"Do I make myself clear?" snarled the hammerhead, teeth clenched. His two companions closed in, raising their fists and glaring at us.

"Riverrise clear!" answered Twig. With that, he drew his own sword, which gleamed in the turquoise firelight.

The goblins were paralyzed by shock for a few seconds. Then, they exchanged glances and roared with incredulous laughter.

"You little pipsqueal!" roared one of them, drawing his sickle. "Come on then," he sneered, as he advanced on Twig, poised for the fight.

"Go on, Tabor. That's it!" urged the first hammerhead, brandishing his knife. Suddenly, Motley sprang from out of nowhere, striking the first hammerhead on the side of his skull with a massive club. "UNNKH!"

The hammerhead crashed to the floor. His knife flew out of his hand, spinning across the tavern floor and coming to rest at Cowlquape's feet. Nervously, Cowlquape picked up the knife and turned to face the second hammerhead. "You'd better just watch it. Don't make me have to use it." Unfortunately, the tone of his voice made it perfectly clear that he had no idea _how_ to use it. The third hammerhead lunged for Cowlquape, sickle descending towards his neck, but Twig dived forwards and parried the blow.

Suddenly, I became aware of heavy breathing behind me. The first hammerhead hadn't been knocked out after all! I spun around to see him raising his own sickle, ready to slice me in half.

Yet again, however, my opponent made the first move.

I sidestepped the sickle and aimed a kick that sent the weapon spinning out of the goblin's hand. Motley came dashing forward, club held high once again, but this time the hammerhead saw it coming and shoved the small landlord away. With a squeal, Motley was knocked off his feet, and his club flew out of his hands. Behind me, Twig and Cowlquape were locked in combat with the other two goblins, Cowlquape's face livid with terror, but Twig's icily calm.

The first hammerhead turned away from Motley and redirected his attention to me. Once more, he came charging blindly at me. Once more, I dodged the blow. Diving to the floor, I snatched up Motley's heavy club and swung it around. The hammerhead was too slow to stop it and grunted as the club smashed into his head once again. He crumpled to the floor, and this time he did not get up.

"_Aaiii!_" came an anguished squeal from behind me, and I spun around. Cowlquape's knife had finally found its mark, in one of the hammerheads' thumbs. "Attaboy," shouted Twig, as he knocked the sickle out of the other goblin's hand. Cowlquape kicked the sickle into the corner, and Twig pressed his sword on the hammerhead's windpipe.

"Leave now," hissed Twig, "or so help me, I shall finish the job off."

The hammerheads shot each other fearful looks. The one Cowlquape had injured roared, "Let's get out of here!" With that, the two hammerheads sprinted out of the Lullabee Inn, paying no heed to their fallen comrade.

"Sky above," whispered Cowlquape. He then made to hand the hammerhead's knife to Twig.

"Keep it," Twig said with a smile. "You earned it. That was excellent, Cowlquape. I didn't know you had it in you."

"Yeah…totally awesome," I added, somewhat lamely.

Cowlquape dropped his gaze, looking bashful, and then slipped the knife into his belt.

"Not exactly known for their loyalty to one another, hammerhead goblins," chuckled Motley, hanging his club on the wall behind him. "Yet dangerous for all that," he turned to face us. "Thank you for coming to my aid gentlemen. Take a seat," he hastily righted a bench that was lying on its side. "You shall drink of my finest barrel—and on the house, of course."

Twig sat down, and Cowlquape and I took up positions on either side of him. Now that the danger had passed, I was able to take a closer look at my surroundings. The tavern was full of drinking troughs, and the few benches still upright were crowded with customers. The ceiling was lost to view amid hexagonal barrels crammed tightly together. I also became aware that the turquoise fire in the brazier was emitting a weird noise, almost as though the logs were singing.

Cowlquape heard it too. "It sounds like lullabee wood," he said, still looking flustered and unsteady from the altercation with the goblins.

"We _are_ in the Lullabee Inn," Twig said with a grin. "Takes me back to the Deepwoods when I was a boy. Spelda—the woodtroll mother I told you about—would put a lullabee log on the fire at bedtime. The mournful songs used to put me to sleep."

"They sound eerie to me," shivered Cowlquape. I nodded in agreement, casting a wary eye towards the brazier.

Motley reappeared at our side, bearing four goblets filled to the brim with a golden liquid. I recognized it as sapwine…I had seen some of the more affluent academics of Sanctaphrax indulging in it occasionally. Placing a goblet in front of each of us, he sat down between Twig and Cowlquape, and raised his own.

"To your very good health," said Motley. With that, we all brought the goblets to our lips and took a gulp.

Yikes! I stifled a gag. This stuff wasn't as bad as the woodgrog on board the _Edgedancer_, but it was still wicked strong. My nose and throat were burning from the pungent fumes.

"_Aaaah!_" sighed Motley with content. "Pure nectar."

"It's very good," Twig agreed. "Eh, you two?"

"Very nice," spluttered Cowlquape, who seemed be having the same reaction as myself. Setting his goblet down and wiping his streaming eyes, he looked back at Motley with a slight frown. "But aren't you afraid the racketeers will be back?"

"Hammerheads are cowards at heart," laughed Motley. "_Once bitten_ and all that. Once word gets out that the Lullabee Inn's no pushover they'll leave me alone—for the time being at least. And it's all thanks to you two!"

A voice from the corner of the room growled, "Oi, Motley! More woodgrog, now!"

"Coming up!" he shouted in reply. "No peace for the wicked," he sighed, standing up and wiping his hands on his apron. "Give me a shout when you need a refill."

As Motley bustled off to answer the summons of the other customers, Twig turned to Cowlquape, who was attempting to drink more of the liquid. "Take your time. I may as well have a look around while we're here. Chat to some of the locals. See if anyone knows anything."

Cowlquape set down his goblet and jumped to his feet with an eager nod. "I'll come with you," I followed suit.

I counted a total of twelve other patrons. Twig made for a squat, lumpen figure with a massive nose and a jutting lower lip, who was bent over one of the drinking troughs. "Greetings, friend. Can I get you a drink? Interesting weather we've been having."

Turning unsteadily and focusing on Twig's face, the guy glared suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"Just a drink. And a little conversation," said Twig, raising his hands. "Motley! Fill my friend's trough here. He looks thirsty."

We were starting to attract a lot of stares.

"Thank you, sir," the figure replied, now gazing at Twig in earnest.

"Like I said, interesting weather—strange rains, hailstones as big as a goblin's fist, all sorts of things falling out of the sky. Why, I even heard tell of shooting stars falling to earth right here in Undertown."

Oh, yeah. Twig was smooth. I guess a good sky pirate has to be skilled at extracting information from people.

"I ain't seen nothing," shrugged the squat dude. "Just got off a sky ship from the Great Shryke Market. Carrying slaves we were." he gave an unhappy grunt. "Never again! The noise was horrible—screaming and moaning they was, all the way. Can't get it out of my head. I came straight here to forget." He buried his face in the now-full drinking trough. Twig turned away, disappointed. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice to our right.

"Cap'n?"

Twig and I both jerked around in our seats. Cowlquape stared curiously in the same direction.

"Cap'n, is that you?" A stocky slaughterer had pulled back his seat and stood up, rubbing his eyes as though trying to rid them of soap. He stared at us, disbelieving, a smile stretching across his face. "Cap'n Twig, it is you, isn't it? And Pendragon? Tell me it is?"

"Tarp?" said Twig. "Is that you, Tarp? Tarp Hammelherd? From the crew of the _Edgedancer_?" Twig's voice rose to a jubilant shout. "Yes, it's me! It's me, your captain!"

The two sky pirates embraced each other in a tight hug. And as they did so, they started glowing. It was just like when we landed in the Stone Gardens. They were glowing like a pair of giant fireflies. I looked down at my body and saw that I was glowing too! But Twig and Tarp seemed to have noticed nothing.

"Oh, cap'n," said Tarp tearfully, "I feared I would never live to see this day."

Twig pulled away, and gripped Tarp's arms. "But you _did_ live, Tarp!" he said in a quavering voice. "You're alive! And now I have found you!" Twig turned to us. "Look, Cowlquape. Look, Pendragon. We've found one of my…"

He stopped short at the looks on our faces. We were both staring at him, dumbfounded and wide-eyed. Motley appeared at the table, and his face registered equal shock as he caught sight of Twig and Tarp.

"Cowlquape, what in Sky's name is the matter?" said Twig.

"Y…you're b…both glowing," stammered Cowlquape.

"Like a pair of tilder-oil lanterns," agreed Motley in shock.

Twig and Tarp looked at one another, and at last caught sight of their own glow. Their eyes widened.

The atmosphere grew tense, frightened. The other customers were muttering frantically, pointing at us. The lumpy guy Twig was milking for information edged away from us, fingering a set of ornately carved amulets and charms draped around his neck. "Spirits," he said in a horrified whisper. "Spirits in the boom-docks. And now spirits here. It ain't natural, I tell you."

"I'm not staying here," said another guy on the other side of the tavern, climbing to his feet.

"Me neither," agreed his drinking companion, who followed him to the door. He shot a glance at Motley. "Things in Undertown are weird enough these days without spirits turning up at the Lullabee Inn!"

"Yeah," said Mister Lumpy, scurrying along in their wake. "Spirits is where I draw the line."

"But…but they were just leaving," protested Motley, shunting us towards the door. "Weren't you? Nothing personal," he added in a low mutter, "But you're upsetting the customers. And trade is trade you understand." he shoved us out the door and slammed it behind us.

"That's gratitude for you!" laughed Twig. "But who cares? You're _alive_, Tarp! That's what matters."

"It's good to see you too, cap'n, but…" Tarp's voice trailed away, and he was frowning at us. "We did look a bit odd, glowing 'n all. It's enough to put the frighteners up anyone." He paused. "I was glowing when I first landed back in Undertown, but it soon faded. Until just then, when we met again."

"It was the same with me and Pendragon," said Twig. "Yet there we were, reunited and glowing once more. Something must have happened out there," he said in a low voice. "Something which even now binds us together." He grabbed Tarp's arm urgently. "Do _you_ remember what happened? To the rest of my crew? To my ship? And, my father! Do you know if we found Cloud Wolf…?"

Wow. For someone who claimed to believe my explanation of what happened out in open sky, he was sure fishing for a second opinion. Still, I suppose that in his place I would be grasping just as intensely to the hope that there was some other explanation.

Tarp shook his head regretfully. "If only I _could_ remember, cap'n. But I can't recall a darned thing after we entered that weather vortex."

"Pendragon claims to remember," said Twig miserably. "He says we were becalmed in a white, empty place…and that my father is dead. He also says that with his final words, my father relayed some crucial information to me…but I don't remember what that information is."

"I'm so sorry, cap'n," said Tarp consolingly, laying a hand on Twig's shoulder.

Twig's mood seemed to brighten. "No matter," he said. "I have found you, Tarp, and that is a start. And excellent start! Now all we have to do is find the others." He frowned. "But where?"

"Spirits," Cowlquape muttered suddenly. We all turned to look at him.

"What was that, Cowlquape?" Twig said. "Speak up."

"I overheard that lugtroll saying that you must be a spirit. Just like the ones in the boom-docks!"

"The boom-docks?" Twig said excitedly. "Spirits in the boom-docks? Just like us?"

"That's what I heard him say." nodded Cowlquape.

"Oh, well done, Cowlquape!" cried out Twig, and clapped him on the shoulder. "That is where we shall go. To the boom-docks!"

Cowlquape grinned, and lowered his head once more. "I said I was a good listener," he said proudly.


	20. Journal 40, Part 2: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Buoyed by the thought that we had already found one crew member and had a lead for the whereabouts of more, the four of us set off through the streets of Undertown. Mercifully, the brightness of the late afternoon sky rendered our glow invisible. Otherwise, the spirit comments would have probably gotten old really fast. The time we spent exploring Undertown was starting to give me a better feel for the layout of the city, and I had a good idea of where we were. The Edgewater River was close by, and the boom-docks weren't much further than that.

"We've done well, Cowlquape, finding Tarp alive," said Twig thoughtfully, "but as for the others…" he paused. "Do we really dare hope that these ghosts, these spirits, could possibly be…Who? Goom? Spooler? Wingnut Sleet, perhaps, or Woodfish?"

"Well, the lugtroll did say _spirits_, not _spirit_," Cowlquape pointed out, "so there must be at least two of them there."

Twig pulled out the shooting star chart that the Professor of Darkness had given him and began examining it. He gestured to four crosses which were scattered around the city.

"One down, and three still to find." He looked hopeful. "Maybe they're _all_ down in the boom-docks."

"Maybe," said Tarp slowly, "Though, to be honest, cap'n, I'm not sure how much I give for their chances if they _have_ ended up there. It's cloddertrog territory, and they don't take kindly to outsiders at the best of times."

Cowlquape shivered. "And what with all those stories of fighting we've been hearing."

"Courage, Cowlquape," Twig said in a reassuring voice. "Stories is probably all they are. If we stick together, we'll be fine. Trust me."

How's that for cock-eyed optimism? Personally, I didn't doubt for a second that the rumors of deadly brawls in the boom-docks were true. If the red mist we had flown through in open sky descended over Undertown, there was no telling what might happen. I had seen cloddertrogs in Undertown before. They were big, beefy muscleheads with dull eyes and furrowed brows, like cartoon cavemen. Their fists would hurt. This plan was starting to seem stupider by the second.

As we entered the boom-docks, however, the cloddertrogs did not pay us any heed. In fact, this district may have looked impoverished, but it didn't seem violent or hostile. Everywhere I looked, there were big cloddertrog families, roars of laughter coming from crowded taverns, little kids playing in the streets.

"I don't see what I was fretting about," Cowlquape said, sounding much more relaxed. He kicked some kind of strange ball back to a group of rowdy cloddertrog kids, and waved at them.

"Yeah, well, first impressions can sometimes be deceptive," warned Tarp. "Things can turn nasty in a moment…"

"_Wurrgh!_" Cowlquape yelled in disgust and horror, pointing at an empty doorway. We all looked into the dark interior, and were struck by a blast of foul, pungent air. "Bones," Twig whispered.

Cowlquape looked like he was going to be sick.

"See what I mean!" hissed Tarp darkly. "Now be on your guard."

I guess you _could_ judge a book by its cover. I had been thoroughly frightened by the cloddertrogs to begin with. Now all I wanted to do was turn tail and bolt out of there. But I swallowed hard and followed the other three. We were all in this together.

As we pressed on, I became aware of a rank smell, like rotten fish. There was trash everywhere. We were creeping through alley after alley, finally emerging near the great Edgewater River itself. It was even bigger up close; the opposite banks were barely visible, shrouded in a thick haze. The garbage floating on its surface was thrown into sharp relief by the setting sun. Ominous clouds were gathering overhead. Darkness was falling fast, but everything was lit by flickering oil lamps mounted on the sides of the run-down buildings straddling the river.

As we walked along the river, I noticed that the muddy bank was strewn with bones. White ravens and some of those gigantic black-and-white rats were fighting over all the waste pouring from the filthy sewer pipes. Clammy, thick raindrops had started coming down.

"I don't like this one little bit," Cowlquape muttered. I was with him.

Twig shook his head. "Neither do I. It's a pity that lugtroll wasn't more specific about where the spirits had been seen."

"I…" Cowlquape began, then swallowed hard. "You're beginning to glow again. All of you."

Twig looked at his arm, gazing at the faint aura of light emanating from his body. "It must be because it's getting dark."

"Then we…we'd better split up," Tarp said, sounding apprehensive.

"Split up?" said Twig and I in unison.

"The closer we are, the brighter we glow," continued Tarp. "I noticed that back inside the Lullabee Inn…"

"No, Tarp. I told you, we stick together," said Twig, cutting him off. "Besides, as I noticed _outside_ the Lullabee, if it's bright enough we don't glow at all."

"But Twig…" Cowlquape protested.

"Cowlquape! We'll go on a little further. Together!"

Um, I was kind of on Tarp's side. These Undertowners were a bunch of superstitious nuts. The last thing I wanted was for those brutal cloddertrogs to suspect us of being spirits, and if we had to split up, so be it. But Twig would clearly not be persuaded, so I kept my mouth shut.

We continued on, skirting around all sorts of junk. Huge crates, stacks of rusty chains, putrid fish corpses, and leaky barrels surrounded us as we walked. We passed under a series of huge elevated jetties, to which the silhouettes of large, bulky sky ships could be seen tethered. The wind began to blow, and I kept getting spattered in the face by the rain. The mud was getting deeper, and Cowlquape and I found ourselves struggling to pull ourselves free of the slime with every step we took.

"This is hopeless," Cowlquape complained miserably. "We're never going to find them here. And you're glowing even brighter."

Twig acted as if he hadn't heard his acolyte. "We'll try this way."

We stopped walking along the riverbank and turned back into a side alley. The street lamps were brighter than ever, and they almost obscured our glow. However, I couldn't help but notice that the cloddertrogs we passed were beginning to pay more attention to us…or rather, to pointedly _not_ pay attention to us. They seemed to skirt around us, to avoid our gaze, as though they were frightened. Believe it or not, this actually was a bit of a relief. It was nice to know that these hulking brutes were at least a little scared of us. Cowlquape, on the other hand, didn't seem to draw courage from this at all.

"I think they've noticed," he whispered, sounding more frightened than ever.

"Come on," Tarp Hammelherd muttered. "Let's get out of here. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

But Twig murmured back, "It's a bit late to worry about that now. Look."

The alley had opened up into a central square, upon which dozens of identical alleys converged. Purple torch flames cast a glow over the scene, revealing hundreds of roaring, dancing cloddertrogs, and mercifully extinguishing our glow. I was reminded almost comically of a college frat party. Cloddertrogs were pushing past us and shunting us forward into the thronging mass.

_Yuck!_ I was blasted with a truly disgusting odor and eye-watering heat and humidity. It felt like there was a dog panting in my face.

"Fish," Twig said, sniffing cautiously. "Rotten fish and…tripweed." I was relieved to see that he looked as disgusted as I felt. "Tripweed beer," he moaned, sounding thoroughly revolted.

"Four jugs, is that?" grunted a voice. I looked around and saw a massive vat of frothing liquid. A short, stocky cloddertrog with a grimy rag on his arm was beckoning to us. To approach him, we had to skirt around several snoring cloddertrogs, passed out in the mud.

"I…errm…You haven't got any woodgrog, have you?" Twig asked apprehensively.

The cloddertrog wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. "Nah! This is a drinking pit. We don't cater for the hoity-toity here."

Putting on a brave smile, Twig nodded his head. "Then three jugs of tripweed beer it is."

The cloddertrog scrambled up a ladder next to the vat, dunking four mud-smeared jugs into the concoction.

"Best to keep him happy," said Twig, turning to us. "Though I wouldn't drink it if I were you. It's fermented from rotted tripweed and the entrails of oozefish."

Cowlquape and I both gagged. I felt like ralphing. Anything would have been better than this…even the blue gloid on Veelox.

"There you go," said the cloddertrog, shoving the jugs into our hands. I held mine gingerly, as if it was diseased. It probably was.

"Thanks," Twig said, handing the cloddertrog a coin. "And tell me…"

The cloddertrog was no longer paying attention to us. He was addressing a group of rowdy cloddertrogs who were roaring curses, bellowing for the tripweed beer.

I had hoped the smell wouldn't be so bad farther away from the vat, but it got much worse as we pushed into the heaving mass of cloddertrogs. I took great care not to shove anyone too hard; I didn't want to know what might happen if I spilled a cloddertrog's beer.

A particularly huge cloddertrog weaved drunkenly towards us, gazing unsteadily in our direction. I went rigid. Was he about to tear us unfamiliar strangers limb from limb?

"Are they for me?" he boomed in a slurred voice, gesturing at the jugs in our hands. Fine by me…as far as I was concerned, giving this hulking cloddertrog my tripweed beer would solve two problems at the same time. I held my jug out, and Twig, Cowlquape, and Tarp copied me. In a flash, the cloddertrog snatched them up, leaned his head back, and emptied two jugs into his mouth at once. Rivulets of tripweed beer ran down his face. He gulped greedily, then gave us a huge grin.

"Nectar of the clods," he roared, and then howled with laughter. He then proceeded to down the other two jugs. Several red-faced cloddertrogs behind him started bellowing a loud, crude song, and hearty guffaws from the others joined the din.

"So," said Twig, gazing interestedly at the giant specimen who had taken our beers, "What line of work are you in?"

The cloddertrog snorted and shrugged. "Same as most round here. Dock work. Loading. Unloading…" Another massive grin spread over his face. "Wouldn't swop it for the world."

A passing cloddertrog turned and punched him in his stout arm, chuckling deeply. "That's coz you're soft in the head, Grom." He then looked at Twig, and continued. "I'll tell you what, I for one wouldn't mind swapping places with one of them academical types up in Sanctaphrax. Living in the lap of luxury, they are."

"_Pfff_," spat Grom derisively. "I'd sooner be down here, Tugger, as you very well know—with a jug in my hand and surrounded by mates."

"See? Soft in the head," chortled Tugger, pulling a face at us and jabbing a pudgy finger at his forehead. "Finest sapwine they drink up there in the floating city, out of cut-glass goblets. Or so I've heard."

"They certainly do," Twig agreed. "We were up there only the other day—on business," he said quickly, evidently deciding it would be foolish to reveal just how connected we really were to Sanctaphrax. "You wouldn't believe the wealth."

"Oh, I would," Tugger said.

"Mind you," Twig added with a small grin, gazing around at the carousing cloddertrogs, "none of them seemed as happy as anyone here."

"Told you!" shouted Grom smugly, draining the last drops from our jugs.

"In fact," continued Twig slyly, "they all seemed rather distracted. Apparently reports have been coming in that spirits have been sighted in Undertown. In particular in the boom-docks…Mind you," Twig added with convincing haste, "it's probably all a load of nonsense. You know what they're like with their lofty ideas—it's what comes of living with their heads in their clouds the whole time…"

The two cloddertrogs had stopped smiling. They glanced at one another, looking apprehensive. Grom beckoned us closer. "Yet maybe there is some truth in the stories this time."

Twig squinted at the cloddertrogs, looking eager. "You don't mean…"

"I've seen them myself," Grom confirmed in a low mutter.

"Me too," nodded Tugger, bending in a little further. "Two of them. They glow!"

Cowlquape glanced around nervously. I did too, eyeing the torches. Fortunately, the purple fire was as bright as ever, and our glow was still invisible.

Twig spoke again. "Glow? How peculiar. But tell me, where exactly did you see them?"

Tugger looked around, as though he didn't want to be overheard. "Once down by the river, glowing in the darkness. Once up in the marketplace, late at night when all the lamps had been put out."

"And once," interjected Grom, nodding earnestly, "at midnight, I seen them floating along an alley. There one minute, they were, then gone again." He shrugged his shoulders, looking agitated. "Sky alone knows where they came from or where they go to—but they give me the heebie-jeebies, so they do."

Tugger's expression brightened. He laughed and gave Twig a slap on the back. "Enough of this talk of spirits. I got a mighty thirst on this evening. Another jug?"

"I'm afraid not," Twig smiled apologetically. He turned to face us. "Come on, Tarp, Cowlquape, Pendragon. If we're going to complete our business this side of midnight, we'd best be going."

"Please yourself," snorted Grom, turning back to Tugger and nudging him. "Too good to drink with the likes of us…"

But as we turned to leave, the weather abruptly changed. The raindrops came thicker and faster, and an inexplicable rage was welling up in the pit of my stomach. Twig's jaw was clenched, and the other two looked tense. With an icy shiver of dread, I realized what was going to happen.

"_Waaargh!_ You stupid oaf!" shouted one of the cloddertrogs.

"Me, stupid?" bellowed a voice in response. "You ridiculous dunderhead!" There was the unmistakable thud of fist hitting flesh.

"It's…it's the weather doing this," growled Twig, seizing me and Cowlquape and pulling us along, Tarp following close behind.

And then, the atmosphere exploded. Every cloddertrog had turned on his neighbor, roaring terrible curses. Some of them were punching and kicking with terrible brutality. Others were raising massive, studded clubs.

"Quickly, everyone," said Twig, tugging at us more insistently. "Let's get out of here."

Cloddertrogs were attacking the vat, which was splintering and buckling, spurts of foul beer shooting everywhere. Small groups of cloddertrogs were writhing in the surge of liquid, viciously ripping at each other. These guys were beyond angry.

"I'll rip off your head."

"I'll tear you limb from limb!"

"I'll yank out your liver and swallow it whole!"

The weather was getting worse. Rain was pouring from the heavens, adding to the cloddertrogs' fury and sending waves of icy water flooding through the streets. The torches were sputtering and dying.

"Come on, Tarp," shouted Twig, as the three of us ducked around the fighting cloddertrogs. "I…_wurrrgh!_"

A massive cloddertrog had seized Twig. His shouts were muffled as a ham-like hand was pressed over his mouth. Two more cloddertrogs seized hold of Cowlquape and Tarp. I sensed a fourth lunging at me from behind and dived out of the way. The cloddertrog staggered, off balance, and turned to face me, snarling, drawing a rusty, serrated knife from his belt. I stood poised, ready to block or dodge whatever this hulking brute might throw at me.

And then, the last of the torches was extinguished, revealing our strange glow at last. The cloddertrog holding Twig froze in shock, then screamed in alarm and shoved him away. Twig fell backwards into Tarp, and the glow became brighter than ever. The cloddertrog advancing on me turned white as a sheet and staggered back, looking all sorts of terrified.

"Spirits!" bellowed the cloddertrogs, backing away from us. Despite their continued rage, they did not dare attack. Twig turned to us and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Let's get out of here before they realize we might not be spirits after all."

Seizing Cowlquape again, Twig tore off, Tarp and I scrambling after him. Though the cloddertrogs behind us howled with rage, they were too frightened to follow us. But we were far from safe; plenty more cloddertrogs were rampaging through the alleys, and perhaps for some, fury might overcome superstition…

"What do we do?" Tarp screamed, dashing back and forth, as more and more of the connecting alleyways were blocked by charging cloddertrogs. "We're done for! We're doomed!"

Twig suddenly stiffened, as though listening to someone. "Very well, this way!" he shouted, turning and dashing up a new alley.

"What?" I yelled after him, confused, as Tarp and Cowlquape continued running beside me, the furious rain lashing our faces. "No one said anything!"

"Stick together!" roared Twig, apparently not hearing me. "And pray to sky that…_Aaaaargh!_"

All four of us screamed in surprise and horror. We had stepped on a giant trapdoor! We were now falling into damp, clammy blackness. The trapdoor above us banged shut again, rendering us completely blind. And then…

We were no longer falling. We landed in something light and springy. There were grunts of pain as everyone landed on top of one another.

"Goodness!" I heard Cowlquape exclaim.


	21. Journal 40, Part 3: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

After about three seconds, I realized where we were, and groaned miserably. The Undertown sewers.

I had hoped that I wouldn't have to come back here until I was done with this territory. Or better yet, that I might not have to come back at all, and there might be a second gate somewhere. But First Edge has presented me with an unrelenting chain of rotten luck. And rotten smells, too. I've mentioned how awful the Undertown sewers smell, haven't I?

Our glow was stifled by the thick net we had fallen into, but we could see a faint light cast from storm drains. Once again, I saw the haphazard tangle of massive pipes spewing sludge into the vast, steaming canal below.

"The sewers," Cowlquape moaned in disgust. "I…_Ouch!_ That hurts! What are you doing?" Twig had dug his elbow into Cowlquape's back.

"Trying to draw my knife," replied Twig, panting with exertion. "Though I can't…seem to…move…"

"_OWWW!_" screamed Cowlquape.

"It's hopeless," Twig finally murmured, abandoning the attempt. "I just can't reach it."

"Wouldn't do you much good if you could," Tarp muttered through a mouthful of the material. "It's made of woodspider silk."

Twig groaned hopelessly.

I peered around in the darkness. Who the hell had set this trap? My mind instantly sprung to the worst possible conclusions. Maybe the quigs from First Edge were clever enough to have set it. Maybe some desperate sewer-dwelling Undertowners had taken to cannibalism to survive, and we were something new for the pot. Or maybe, I thought with a shudder, Saint Dane had planted the trap to keep us out of the way while he did…what? Man, it was so infuriating not to have any knowledge of the demon's whereabouts!

I took a few deep breaths. Now that we had gotten away from the mind storm, my head was growing clearer. We had a plan. Find Twig's missing crew, and get his memory back. Then we would know the turning point and, hopefully, find how to stop whatever Saint Dane was planning.

Of course, to do that, we would have to get out of this stupid net.

"This is terrible, cap'n," Tarp said, doing a pretty perfect job of summarizing everything about our situation. "I'd have sooner chanced my luck with those crazy cloddertrogs than ended up strung up like a great tilder sausage."

Tarp scrunched his nose at the rotten smell. I looked down at the ground below the sluggish canal and saw giant rats clustered below us, looking hungry, jumping and squealing with frustration.

Tarp continued. "Somebody, or something, set this trap. And we've fallen into it."

"What do you mean, _something_?" squeaked Cowlquape.

"I've heard that muglumps live in the sewers," Tarp went on in a whisper. "Fearsome beasts they are. All claws and teeth. But clever, devious—perhaps one of them might have…"

"_Shhh!_" hissed Twig, raising his head. I was listening intently as well; we both heard the rattling, clanking noise that was slowly growing louder.

"What's _that_?" muttered Cowlquape in alarm.

"I don't know," whispered Twig in reply.

The noise was getting louder…there could be no doubt that it was coming closer, drawing towards the four helpless people trapped in the net. Whatever it was—a horde of cannibals, a muglump, or a demon Traveler bent on taking over all of existence—I wanted it to show itself. Waiting was the worst torture of all. Unless, of course, the worst torture was being eaten alive, or watching Halla crumble. Gulp.

"Do you see anything, Cowlquape?" Twig murmured. "Or you, Pendragon?"

The harsh clanking was almost upon us. There came two loud clangs which seemed to make the pipes tremble.

Suddenly, I saw something looming from the darkness. It was a vast metallic hook on the end of a gnarled wooden pole. A pair of large, bony hands was holding the end. There came another clang; the figure was gripping the sides of pipes with the hook, apparently steering a small barge directly towards the spot where we all hung. I expected to see icy blue eyes and jagged red scars materialize before me at any moment.

"I can see something," gasped Cowlquape.

The barge was now directly beneath us, and I saw the figure holding the pole. It wasn't Saint Dane; it was a leering flat-head goblin. That seemed only marginally better from where I was standing; this dude looked ferocious.

"Twig," Cowlquape yelped in a high-pitched voice, "it's…"

The flat-head swung the hook. It came swishing around and dislodged the net. The next second, we were plummeting through the air again, landing with a painful thud on the floor of the barge. At once, the little craft sped off again, riding the gentle current of the canal.

We were juddered and rocked by the filthy water as the barge drifted back the way it had come. The four of us thrashed, struggling to free ourselves, but it was no good.

And then, something happened that caused my terror to melt away completely. A familiar, nasally voice above us said, "What have we caught today, Bogwitt?"

"Bogwitt?" Twig whispered incredulously, as though hardly daring to believe his ears.

The flat-head goblin bent down and undid the knot at the top of the net, releasing us from our prison. Twig, Tarp, and I stood up, and Cowlquape hastily followed suit. We were glowing more brightly than ever—as was the goblin standing rigid before us, mouth opened wide in a comical gape.

"Sleet!" shouted the goblin, "He's glowing! He's glowing like us!"

Wobbling unsteadily as the barge rocked to and fro, Twig took a step forward. "Don't you recognize me, Bogwitt? It's me, Twig."

"_I_ recognize you, _Captain_ Twig," replied the other voice. "Though I never thought to see you alive again, least of all in the sewers of Undertown."

We all looked up to see the speaker—a wiry figure dressed in sky pirate gear, standing in the entrance of a massive pipe, and glowing fiercely.

"Sleet!" Twig yelled in jubilation, staggering and nearly falling over. "Wingnut Sleet!"

The sky pirate had turned and sped off into the pipe, however.

"Don't you mind him, captain," Bogwitt reassured Twig, as he gave an ungainly, wobbling step and disembarked from the little boat. He seemed to be limping, his right leg dragging a bit. The four of us followed Bogwitt. "I'm sure he's more pleased to see you than he's letting on. And as for me, I couldn't be happier."

Twig grinned. "Nor I, to see you. I can scarcely believe what's happening."

Bogwitt scurried up a set of rungs leading to the pipe entrance. We all followed him, and set off into the pipe. Soon, it opened up to reveal an astonishing sight. "Welcome," said Sleet, who was standing with his back turned to us.

The chamber we were standing in was full of an incredible collection of expensive-looking objects. The walls were lined with stylish hangings, the floor was covered in soft rugs, furniture and cupboards were arranged all around the wall, crates everywhere were overflowing with useful-looking items. The rancid smell of the sewer was replaced with the smell of roasting sausage.

"It used to be a water cistern," said Sleet in explanation. "Now it is where we are forced to live."

"I feared you might not be living at all," Twig replied.

"Aye, well," muttered Sleet bitterly, turning and striding over to a stove, where he was tending several plump, juicy tildermeat sausages, "perhaps it would be better if I weren't."

"But Sleet…" protested Twig, sounding puzzled.

"Oh, him and me get by all right down here," Bogwitt interrupted. "We've been here weeks now. We forage and filch—and you'd be amazed at the stuff we find in the nets some days…though we always take any creatures back to the surface—after relieving them of any valuables they may be carrying. And with light no problem…so long as the two of us stick together," he added, gesturing at the figure of Wingnut Sleet.

"The glowing, you mean?" Twig said quickly.

"It was the same with us three when the cap'n and Pendragon found me," Tarp added. "And now here's the five of us all aglow."

"It was a white storm," said Twig. "According to Pendragon, we were becalmed in a great void, and some kind of explosion blew us back to the Edge. But he's the only one who actually has any recollection of it all…I remember _nothing_. How about you, Bogwitt? Can you remember what happened to us out there in open sky?"

"No," said Bogwitt, shaking his head apologetically. "We set off after the caterbird in search of your father, we entered the weather vortex—and then, not a thing." He gestured with a grimace to his right leg. "All I know is that I was injured somehow."

"And you, Sleet?" Twig inquired, turning to the hunched figure of the quartermaster. Sleet did not speak. Frowning with irritation, Twig took a few steps closer to the stove. "Sleet!" he barked.

Sleet froze, and put down the spatula he was holding. "Not a thing. I know only that it did this to me." And with that, Sleet removed his tricorn hat and turned to face us all.

Cowlquape gave a horrified gasp, Tarp averted his gaze, and Twig and I stood rigid with shock, appalled at what we were seeing. "Y…your face!" Twig said in horror.

The left side of Wingnut Sleet's face and head were hideously disfigured. His hair had burned off, his left ear missing, his skin resembling raw hamburger. Half of his lips had melted away, and his left eye was pure white and unseeing. I remembered, with a nauseating jolt, the blue balls of lightning charging up and down the deck of the _Edgedancer_, and the way that one of them had wrapped itself around Sleet's head…I remembered the way he had screamed in agony, clutching hopelessly at the tendrils of energy…

"This? This is how I found myself on my return from open sky," Sleet muttered, scowling. "Not a pretty sight, eh?"

"I…I had no idea," Twig whispered, his eyes wide.

"There is no reason why you should," Sleet shrugged darkly.

"But you blame me for taking you inside the weather vortex?"

Sleet hastily shook his head. "No, captain. I agreed to accompany you. It was my choice." He paused, and then added, "Though I confess to being disappointed that you don't know how we made it back to the Edge either."

"I know only what I was told," Twig muttered ruefully, "That we were blasted out of the white storm, and that we looked like nine shooting stars as we sped back across the night sky. At least, that's how Pendragon and the Professor of Darkness described it."

"The Professor of Darkness?" Sleet said, his mangled flesh quivering and his good eye reduced to a narrow slit.

"Some he saw landing in Undertown," Twig continued, "you, Bogwitt, Tarp Hammelherd; perhaps one other as well. The others traveled further. They came down somewhere in the Deepwoods. I vowed to find you all. And look, I've found three of you already, not counting Pendragon, who came down with me in the Stone Gardens. It's more than I'd ever dared hope for."

"Hope." Sleet chewed the word, as though it was something unpleasant in his mouth. "I've learnt to live without it. After all, hope isn't going to heal this." He stroked the scarred, melted remains of the left side of his face. Cowlquape turned his gaze away, unable to stare any longer.

"I could bear neither the staring eyes," Sleet's gaze flickered from Cowlquape to Tarp to me, "nor the averted gazes of those who are repelled by my appearance. So I came down to the sewers, to hide myself away. And Bogwitt—to his credit—accompanied me."

Bogwitt nodded, a fiercely loyal expression of solidarity on his brutal features. "Where he goes, I go."

"We look out for each other," Sleet continued, and then added, "It is necessary down here."

"Like the professor—sorry, Twig—looks out for me," Cowlquape chimed in, turning to face Sleet once again. "It's sometimes necessary even in Sanctaphrax."

Sleet's good eye clouded over with a faraway look. "Sanctaphrax," he said in a soft whisper. "I too once nurtured dreams of finding a position in the floating city of academics. But then," he said darkly, "with that place, it isn't _what_ you know, but _who_ you know." He gave a small sniff. "And I knew no one."

Bogwitt strode awkwardly to the stove and took the skillet, on which the sausages were now fully cooked. "Supper's ready."

"Tildermeat sausages," Sleet added.

"My favorite," exclaimed Twig enthusiastically. I nodded…only now was I noticing the hunger gnawing at my insides.

Bogwitt tipped some sausages onto six plates, sliced a loaf of bread, and handed out the food to each of us.

"And there's a flagon of excellent sapwine I've been saving for a special occasion," Sleet added, sifting through a crate next to the stove. "Bogwitt, our finest goblets if you please."

"To the crew of the _Edgedancer_," proclaimed Twig after the goblets had been distributed and filled, raising his own in the air. "To those found and to those still to be found."

We all drank to Twig's words. The second time around, I actually didn't hate the rich, sweet, honey-colored wine. I guess it was all a matter of getting used to. Rather like this whole bizarre territory was all a matter of getting used to. But I had a long way to go before _that_ happened. It's funny, but being able to take a short break from running for my life actually made me miss Second Earth even more.

"_Aaah!_" grinned Tarp appreciatively, wiping his mouth and whiskers. "Exquisite!" Cowlquape and I nodded.

"Delicious," Cowlquape gasped, wolfing down his sausages and bread. "Absolutely deee-licious!"

"I must say, Sleet," Twig remarked, turning to face disfigured visage of his quartermaster, "you've done well given the awful situation you found yourselves in. And you, too, Bogwitt. Very well. But you can't stay here in this terrible place, especially as you have both been injured on my behalf. One day I shall have a new ship and you shall be my crew again. But for now I must find out what has happened to the others."

"We will go with you," Sleet said at once.

"Where you go, we go, Captain Twig," Bogwitt agreed, nodding vigorously.

But Twig shook his head. "Not this time, Bogwitt. Your leg needs time to heal, too."

"Then we must stay here," Sleet replied sourly, gazing up at the vaulted roof of the cistern. "For there is nothing for us _up there_."

Twig, however, was smiling. "On the contrary. _Sanctaphrax_ is up there."

"S…Sanctaphrax?" Wingnut Sleet looked flabbergasted. "But…"

"As you so rightly said, Sleet," Twig pressed on, "it isn't what you know, but who. _I_ know the Professor of Darkness. And _you_ know me."

Sleet gaped at Twig, astounded.

"I shall right you a letter which you will deliver to the professor himself," continued Twig, glancing around, and adding, "I assume you have the means to do so."

"Oh, yes," Sleet nodded. "Paper and ink of the highest quality, and the finest snowbird quills. Something I picked up on one of our foraging trips."

"You will stay in my study in the School of Light and Darkness and await my return," said Twig, smiling. "I would guess the professor might wish to conduct a couple of experiments on you, concerning the way you glow—but otherwise, you will be left alone. How does that sound?"

Wingnut Sleet looked enthusiastic. "It sounds very good, captain. Very good indeed."

"Indeed," added Bogwitt.

Twig turned to the flat-head. "Yes, Bogwitt. As you once worked there as a guard, you must know Sanctaphrax like the back of your hand. Take the hidden alleys and secret passages on your way to the Professor of Darkness. Let's try and keep those gossipy academic tongues from wagging." He then turned to face Tarp. "Tarp, you must go with them."

Tarp looked indignant. "Me? Accompany them to Sanctaphrax?" he cried out in protest, shaking his head. "But I want to go with _you_, cap'n. I'm fit. I'm strong. You need someone like me on such a perilous quest."

"I'm sorry, Tarp, but only Cowlquape and Pendragon can travel with me," said Twig.

"But why, cap'n?" insisted the slaughterer.

"Think about it, Tarp. How far do you think we'd get, glowing like tilder lamps? Whenever it is dark, we would begin to glow if together—and the fear of others would not help us in our search."

"Then why are you taking Pendragon, cap'n?" protested Tarp. "He was with us on the _Edgedancer_, he was. The two of you will glow just the same!"

"Pendragon is different," Twig said at once. "He's the only one of us who remembers anything about what happened in the weather vortex. I haven't given up hope that his presence may jog my own memory…or if not mine, than the memory of some other crew member we have yet to find. His presence is worth the risk. But the glow gets stronger the more of us are together. Two of us will not glow as brightly as three."

"But we could cover up," Tarp continued insistently. "We could wear thick hooded cloaks to conceal the light and…"

"And end up more conspicuous than ever!" Twig cut across him. "No, I must do this without you. Together, we would only fail—and that is something I must not do."

Defeated, Tarp nodded. "You're right, Cap'n Twig. I should have thought."

Twig looked grateful that the slaughterer had finally calmed down and accepted his orders. "Thank you, Tarp. It is agreed then." He turned his attention to Bogwitt and Sleet. "You three will await my return in Sanctaphrax, while Cowlquape, Pendragon, and I will journey on to find what has become of the rest of my missing crew." He finished with a scowl of feigned impatience. "So where is that paper and pen?"

Once Sleet had handed Twig the writing materials, he, Bogwitt, and Tarp scuttled off to the corner to discuss their captain's orders amongst themselves. Cowlquape and I strode over to a battered old writing desk where Twig was scribbling his letter to the Professor of Darkness.

Catching sight of us, he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "There's another reason why I don't want the others to accompany us."

"What's that?" I whispered back.

Twig stared intently at me and Cowlquape. "As long as they're with us, we won't be able to discuss the larger quest at hand. Now, we can once again attack this problem not as sky pirates, but as Travelers."


	22. Journal 40, Part 4: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Unfortunately, we had no luck "approaching the problem as Travelers". We may have found three of Twig's missing crew members, but we were exactly zero steps closer to saving the territory. Or even discovering what Saint Dane had in store.

As we could think of nothing else to do, the three of us started attempting to track down the fourth crew member, the last of the shooting stars to land in Undertown. We searched for two whole weeks, with absolutely no success. We heard nothing about any more spirits, despite triple- and quadruple-checking every tavern we could find.

One day, we were sitting on a jetty on the dockside of the Western Quays. This area, like the boom-docks, was a kind of "airport" for sky ships, but it was far more upscale. Twig had explained that this was where the League ships arrived and departed, as well as the occasional wealthy sky pirate. Behind the long row of jetties stood building after building devoted to a specific league. Further behind us, looming over the city, was the magnificent, towering Palace of the Leagues, where the High Leaguesmaster lived and where the most eminent leaguesmen convened. The Leagues Chamber itself, where the actual meetings took place, was visible through the giant glass dome protruding from the top of the building. At the moment, a vast scaffolding surrounded the palace, and teams of workers seemed to be repairing a smashed hole in the structure. Might that hole have been created by the falling debris which killed Cowlquape's father?

The Leagues of Undertown, I thought, seemed yet another facet of life in First Edge that Saint Dane would be all too likely to exploit. As the tyrannical masters of Undertown commerce, the leaguesmen were clearly a prime potential target for Saint Dane's plans. But then again, everything in the Edge seemed that way. Surely the Leagues would be just one more piece of the puzzle in Saint Dane's grand scheme.

We had gotten up very early, eager to leave our lodgings as soon as possible. We were covered all over from itchy bites from the insects which infested our straw mattresses. The sun was only just beginning to make its appearance on the horizon, and shafts of purplish red light heralded the dawn.

"May this new day bring us the information we require," said Twig with a yawn. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. "Oh, why is the fourth crew member proving to be so elusive?"

"Mm-hmm," Cowlquape muttered distractedly. He was at the edge of the jetty, legs dangling over the side, fully absorbed in another barkscroll.

"They must be seeing to the roof," Twig added, gesturing up at the workers on the scaffolding.

"Mm-hmm," Cowlquape repeated, turning the page of the barkscroll.

Twig turned back to stare out over the Edgewater River, the muddy, filth-strewn surface of which was illuminated rather unflatteringly by the rising sun.

"Perhaps," Twig said, "the time has come for us to simply abandon our search here in Undertown and set forth for the Deepwoods."

"Mm-hmm," said Cowlquape, frowning.

"Cowlquape! Have you heard a single word I've been saying to you?"

Cowlquape finally looked up at Twig, looking a little confused.

"Ever the studious academic, eh?" Twig chuckled. "You've been lost in those barkscrolls ever since we got here."

"Oh, but it's…they're…just let me read you this. It really is fascinating stuff."

Twig sighed. "If you must."

"It's more about _The Myth of Riverrise_," Cowlquape went on eagerly. "About the Mother Storm…"

Twig suddenly sat up straight, frowning. "The Mother Storm," he whispered to himself. I turned eagerly to him. Might we have just unlocked one of his memories of the voyage into open sky? But it seemed that the moment had passed. He turned to Cowlquape, and said, "Go on then, tell me what it says."

Nodding, Cowlquape found the spot on the barkscroll. "_For as I write, it is now the commonly held belief that the Mother Storm has struck the Edge not once, but many times, destroying and creating with each return. I…_"

"_I_?" Twig interrupted. "Who wrote these words?"

Cowlquape looked up from the scroll. "They are a transcription of the original bark-writings that date back to the Time of Enlightenment in the Ancient Deepwoods," he told us in explanation. "This version," he stroked the scroll fondly, "was written down by a lowly scribe several hundred years ago. But the originals were much, much older."

Twig smiled, unable to hide his interest. I, too, found myself fascinated by Cowlquape's words.

"The Time of Enlightenment!" Cowlquape exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Oh, it must have been a wonderful time to be alive. A glorious age of freedom and learning—long before our magnificent floating city of Sanctaphrax was even dreamed of. The Deepwoods emerged from darkness under the visionary leadership of Kobold the Wise. How I would have loved to have known him!" Cowlquape gazed skyward, a dreamy look on his face. "He banished slavery. He united the thousand tribes under the lordly arms of the Trident and the Snake. He even oversaw the invention of the written word…"

"Yes, yes, Cowlquape," Twig cut his acolyte off. "Very interesting. Is there a point to all this?"

"Patience, Twig. All will soon be revealed," replied Cowlquape. "The Time of Enlightenment was abruptly snuffed out like a candle, Kobold the Wise's Union of a Thousand Tribes broke up, and the whole region descended into the barbarity and chaos that has reigned in the Deepwoods to this day."

Twig and I remained silent, continuing to listen to Cowlquape's story.

"_Kobold the Wise grew old and weary_," Cowlquape went on, reading once more from the yellowed barkscroll in his lap. "_Madness walked the market glades and deep meadows. Tribe turned upon tribe, brother upon brother, father upon sun, for the Sky had grown angry and stole the reason of all who dwelt beneath it._

_"Thus did representatives of the Thousand Tribes gather at Riverrise, and say, 'Kobold, you who see further into Open Sky than the greatest of us, tell us what to do, for in our madness, we are devouring each other and the sky turns our hearts black.'_

_"And Kobold raised himself from his sick bed and said, 'Lo, the Mother Storm returns. Her madness shall be our madness. Prepare yourselves, for time is short…'"_

Cowlquape hesitated. "There's a bit of a gap in the text here. Wood-weevils have devoured the original bark." He stared back down at the scroll. "This is how it continues. '_…The Mother Storm, she who first seeded the Edge with life, shall come back to reap what she has sown, and the world shall return to Darkness_," he finished, placing great emphasis on each word.

"Do you see, both of you?" Cowlquape pressed us. "Kobold the Wise was describing _The Myth of Riverrise_ and predicting the return of the Mother Storm—a prediction that came all too true, for the Deepwoods did indeed return to darkness. And now it is happening all over again."

Twig looked vaguely out at open sky, evidently lost in thought.

"The madness described is with us again," Cowlquape said softly, "blown in on the weather from beyond the Edge. The mad mists and heartbreaking rains—the terrible violence. What was it I read out?" He hastily scanned the barkscroll again. "_…in our madness we are devouring each other._ Don't you see? It isn't a myth at all. The Mother Storm is returning."

"The Mother Storm is returning," Twig echoed, looking troubled. He shook his head in apparent frustration.

I, on the other hand, was getting excited. "Cowlquape, you may be on to something here."

"What?" Cowlquape said, sounding slightly puzzled.

"What if the Mother Storm's return is the turning point?" I said. "If the Mother Storm really exists, and her previous visit to the Edge put an end to organized society, think what it could do now!"

"But that still doesn't answer the most crucial question of all," Twig argued. "What is Saint Dane up to? You said yourself he can't control the weather. The only way this idea would be plausible is if the Mother Storm's return presented the inhabitants of First Edge with a choice of some sort. That's what Saint Dane targets, right? A society's choice between what is right and what is easy? I don't see how a bunch of awful weather is going to do that."

I reluctantly nodded in agreement. Twig was right. A natural disaster like the Mother Storm's return might be catastrophic for First Edge, but unless the people of this territory were to somehow bring it on themselves, this didn't sound like Saint Dane's ballgame.

Twig turned to face us. "Come, you two. I think we can safely leave such matters to the academics of Sanctaphrax. For ourselves, it is time we abandoned—or at least postponed—our search for the fourth crewmember of the _Edgedancer_, and set forth into the Deepwoods. Let's go to the posting-pole and find ourselves passage on board a sky ship."

Cowlquape grudgingly rolled up the barkscrolls and slid them into his bag, then stood up. I climbed to my feet as well, and the three of us trotted away down the quay. We stopped in front of one of several towering wooden poles on the central embarkation jetty. Hundreds of squares of cloth were nailed to the pole, each covered in writing.

"So, uh, what are we doing here?" I asked the other two.

"The posting-poles are where the captains of sky ships, leaguesman and sky pirate alike, advertise spare berths aboard their vessels," explained Twig. "When one has no sky ship of his own, this is the easiest and fastest way to travel to some other part of the Edge. I only hope that one of them is offering something suitable."

"I won't be any help in that, dude," I said with an apologetic shrug. "I don't know the territory well enough. You guys are gonna have to figure this one out."

"Not to worry. I wasn't expecting anything more," said Twig, and he and Cowlquape turned to discuss the fliers covering the posting-pole.

"How about this one?" Cowlquape said after a few moments. "_Raggers and Royners Leagueship. Departing for the Deepwoods this afternoon._ They've got a triple berth spare. And the price seems fair."

Twig, however, shook his head. "No. No, it's not quite…" His words trailed away into nothing, and he continued examining fliers.

"What about this one, then?" Cowlquape pointed to another flier. "A tugmaster bound for the ironwood copses of the barktrolls is leaving later this morning and needs an extra two pairs of hands. But we might be able to persuade him to take on all three of us."

Twig ignored him. He frowned, scanning all the fliers, muttering the names of ships and destinations, then promptly shaking his head. I had no idea what he was looking for, and nor, it seemed, did Cowlquape. Even Twig himself seemed a little puzzled by his own decisions. On and on he went, scanning more and more fliers, and then, suddenly…

"Of course!" he cried out. "Cowlquape, Pendragon, this is it. This is the one. Listen. '_Three spare places going on board the _Skyraider_, five gold pieces each. Destination: The Great Shryke Slave Market.'"_ Twig turned to look at us. "What better place to resume our search?"

"Won't it be a bit dangerous?" protested Cowlquape, sounding extremely apprehensive. I was with him; I didn't like the sound of that destination at all. A slave market didn't exactly seem a prime vacation spot. And as for shrykes, my last encounter with one of those bird creatures ended with me dodging an evil-looking bone flail. But a slave market _run_ by shrykes? The thought nearly made me wet myself.

Twig, on the other hand, appeared unfazed. "Undertown can also be dangerous. We must visit a place where creatures from all over the Deepwoods congregate."

"Yes, but…" Cowlquape desperately turned back to the posting-pole. "I mean, couldn't we go to that Great Hammelhorn Fair you mentioned? Or, look, there's a sky ship heading for the Timber Clearings of the woodtrolls. Wouldn't that do instead?" I strode over to Cowlquape and nodded enthusiastically. Anything but the Great Shryke Slave Market, as far as I was concerned.

But Twig would clearly not be persuaded otherwise. "Cowlquape, there is no place in the Deepwoods like the Great Shryke Slave Market. Its denizens travel from every corner to be there. It is the obvious place to start our search." He turned back to the flier, reading the name of the sky ship's captain. "Thunderbolt Vulpoon. Now there's a name to conjure with."

"He sounds horrible," Cowlquape shuddered. "Isn't a vulpoon one of those vicious birds with a serrated beak?"

"It is," confirmed Twig, sounding completely untroubled by this information.

"And Thunderbolt!" Cowlquape pressed on anxiously. "What kind of a monster would take the name of a bloodthirsty bird of prey _and_ the most terrible and unpredictable feature of the weather?"

Twig gave a derisive snort. "A vain and foolish one. _Name wild, captain mild_, as my father used to say. Those who select the most ferocious of names are without exception the ones least deserving of them." His gaze unfocused. "Whereas the more gallant and valiant call themselves by less ostentatious names."

"Like Cloud Wolf," Cowlquape said softly.

Twig's eyes began to water, and he looked away hastily. "Yes," he agreed softly, "like my father, Cloud Wolf, the most gallant and valiant sky pirate captain of them all." He then turned to gaze at the flier once again, and abruptly his eyes widened. "Sky above!"

"What?" Cowlquape said, startled.

"The departure time!" Twig cried out. "The _Skyraider_ is due to set sail in less than a quarter of an hour."

We tore off down the quay, dashing up and down each jetty as we went, staring at countless sky ships of all shapes and sizes, checking their names. None of the ships we saw were called _Skyraider_. After ten minutes had passed, we realized that random searching was hopeless, and we began to ask passerby frantically if they knew where the _Skyraider_ was berthed.

"Excuse me," I shouted out at an aged lugtroll who was passing. "We're searching for the _Skyraider_. She's due to depart in five minutes, and we're getting desperate. Do you…?"

"_Skyraider_?" wheezed the lugtroll. "I passed by her on my way down. Second jetty."

"But we've already been there twice!" protested Cowlquape, appearing at my side. "There's no _Skyraider_ there."

"Must've missed her, you have. I's sure as Sky seen her at the second jetty."

"Come on, we'll try the second jetty again!" shouted Twig, and tore off back the way we had come, Cowlquape and I scrambling to keep up. Once again, we saw nothing.

"The _Windraider_," I groaned, staring at the plaque on a squat league tugboat. "That's what the lugtroll saw. He got confused."

"This is hopeless!" Twig yelled in desperation. Where is it? You don't think it might have left early, do you?"

"If the three spare places have already been filled, maybe so," Cowlquape replied.

"But it _can't_ have," Twig cried desperately.

Cowlquape seemed to be fighting to hide his relief. Part of me was on Cowlquape's side. Whatever Twig said, I would much rather go somewhere…well, somewhere that wasn't the Great Shryke Slave Market. But at the same time, I agreed with Twig that it sounded like the ideal spot to begin their searches afresh.

I stared around helplessly. There were just too many ships to examine.

Cowlquape looked at Twig. "Perhaps we should return to the posting-pole and…"

"No. There isn't time," Twig said hastily. He dashed over to several dockworkers who were chatting animatedly amongst themselves. "Scuse me. Do _you_ know where a sky ship by the name of _Skyraider_ is berthed?"

"Nineteenth jetty. Bottom right," responded one of them immediately, not even bothering to turn around and look at us.

"But we've just come from that end of the quays," said Cowlquape.

"I don't care. This could be our last chance," said Twig. Seizing us both around the arms, he dragged us away. "Come on, run!"

We tore down the quayside promenade, barreling into people and sending boxes and baskets flying. "Sorry," Cowlquape kept calling back in response to the indignant bellows chasing us. "Faster, Cowlquape!" Twig gasped, dashing tirelessly on.

We passed by jetty after jetty. Twelfth…thirteenth…fourteenth…we could not pause to catch our breath. There was less than a minute left until the _Skyraider_'s departure time. Seventeenth…eighteenth…

"The nineteenth jetty!" breathed Twig, turning and leaping down the stairs to the jetty. We all dashed across the wooden platform, to be greeted with the sight of a tremendous, elegant sky pirate vessel. "And look! How in Sky's name did we miss it before?"

Closer and closer we came to the end of the jetty.

"The _Skyraider!_" Twig exclaimed. "We've found it, but…Oh, no!"

The sky ship was seconds away from taking off. The mainsail had been expanded, the grappling hooks detached. There was a small figure bent down, disconnecting the tolley-rope from the jetty.

"STOP!" bellowed Twig, hurling himself forward with furious speed. "WAIT FOR US!" But the little mobgnome unhitching the tolley-rope didn't seem to hear him. He grumbled in vexation, yanking at the rope, and then breathed a relieved sigh as the rope broke loose. The mobgnome threw the rope back onto the deck, and scurried away as the _Skyraider_ began to gently rise away from the jetty.

"NO!" Twig screamed, still tearing up the jetty. We were nearly there, but it was too late. Or at least, it would have been too late for anyone other than a crazy young sky pirate and his two accomplices.

"Are you with me, you two?" Twig shouted.

"I'm with you," we both said in unison.

"Then, jump!" Twig yelled. We reached the end of the jetty and, as one, we leaped across the widening gap, arms splayed in front, urging our bodies to fly just a little further.

The three of us grunted as we slammed into the hull of the ship. All of us managed to grab the safety-rail on the edge of the deck. Miraculously, we had made it. We hung suspended for several seconds, trying to catch our breath.

"We're on our way," Twig managed to gasp. "To the Deepwoods and the Great Shryke Slave Market."

"Twig, I…I…"

"Cowlquape?" Twig said in alarm, turning to face his acolyte. "What is it?"

I looked around too. To my horror, I saw Cowlquape's arms shaking as he struggled desperately to hold on. "My hands…all slippery. Can't…can't hold…_Aaaargh!_"

An icy shard seemed to have dropped into my stomach. Twig gasped. Cowlquape had slipped away from the hull and was falling away from the _Skyraider_, down towards the muddy riverbed, far below.


	23. Journal 40, Part 5: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

My heart was thumping violently. Cowlquape was dropping like a stone. I didn't see how we were going to save him. In a few seconds, the Traveler from First Edge would no longer have an acolyte.

Twig and I hurled ourselves forward, swinging over the safety-rail and landing on the deck of the _Skyraider_. Good for us. Didn't do a thing for Cowlquape.

"Cowlquape!" screamed Twig, bending as far over the rail as he could, looking down. Fearfully, I joined him. But I couldn't see Cowlquape. Where had he gone?

"Down here," gasped the voice of Cowlquape. My heart leapt. Cowlquape had managed to grab hold of something!

"Where?" demanded Twig, his eyes widening.

"On the hull-rigging. But I don't know if I can hang on for much longer."

"Yes, you can! You've got to, Cowlquape," implored Twig. We were no longer flying over the Edgewater River. Now, we were sailing above barren mounds of bleached white mud. This must be the Mire…the polluted wasteland to the west of Undertown. This, of course, wouldn't make it any better for Cowlquape if he fell.

"It…it's no good," Cowlquape was moaning feebly. "I can't get a foothold and my arms…so weak…"

Frantically, Twig and I scanned the deck. I couldn't see anyone, not even the stupid old mobgnome. Then, I noticed a short, pompous-looking figure at the helm of the ship, dressed in a magnificent blue coat and a tricorn hat with a massive feather sticking out of the top. This, I assumed, was Thunderbolt Vulpoon, the captain of the _Skyraider_. But he seemed not to notice us.

Desperately, Twig howled, "Help! Help! Someone's fallen overboard!" Thunderbolt Vulpoon paid us no heed.

Twig yelled louder. "There must be someone here! HELP US!"

"What, what, what?"

The mobgnome had reappeared, looking bewildered at the two unfamiliar individuals frantically waving their arms. Beside him was a short, bowlegged, white-whiskered individual with a bulbous nose, a tapering scalp, and low-set ears. A gnokgoblin, I think Twig said these guys were called.

Twig groaned in disappointed dread. These two geezers would not have been prime candidates to rescue Cowlquape. He explained the situation to them. "My companion fell. He's clinging to the hull-rigging. Get me a rope and a stave-hook. Now!"

The mobgnome and the gnokgoblin nodded hastily and trotted off, returning shortly with the equipment. Twig hurriedly tied off the rope, and climbed down the side of the hull. Hastily, I bent over the side to watch what Twig was doing.

Twig was struggling as the rope twisted in the wind, but he held on firmly, climbing down with a purposeful, steady rhythm. Soon, he was lost to view beneath the curved mass of the hull. I waited and waited, my heart pounding.

A few moments later, I heard Twig shout "Hold tight, Cowlquape! I'm going to try swinging closer."

I sat there helplessly, willing Twig and Cowlquape to reappear. Several more moments passed. Then, Twig scrambled back up…without Cowlquape. For a moment, I had no idea what was going on. Then I saw the rope was taut against the side of the hull, and understood. Twig had lost the stave-hook, and was going to try pulling Cowlquape up by reeling in the rope.

"Grab the rope and take the strain," Twig commanded. The mobgnome and gnokgoblin seized the rope. I scurried over and grabbed it as well, and Twig joined a split second later. "Let go, Cowlquape!" Twig called out.

The rope swung out, and we all lurched slightly as we took the full weight of the young fourthling dangling below the _Skyraider_.

Twig turned to us. "Right. Now, pull! Pull as if your lives depended on it!"

Or Cowlquape's life.

Inch by inch, we hauled the rope backward, pulling Cowlquape up with every movement. It was working. As long as Cowlquape held on, we would definitely manage to save him.

"Nearly there," muttered Twig. "Just a little bit more and…Yes!"

Cowlquape's head had appeared. Twig tied off the rope to a post on the deck while the three of us took the strain. He then dashed over to the balustrade, grabbed Cowlquape's wrist, and heaved him up onto the deck. "Got you!" he panted triumphantly. The two of them lay down on the deck, their strength spent.

All of a sudden, the relief of rescuing Cowlquape vanished as a mocking, nasally voice spoke from behind us. "Well, well, well, what have we here? Scurvy stowaways, is it?"

We all turned to be confronted with the sight of the short, foppish guy from the helm. Close to, he looked even more ridiculous. He had a big black handlebar mustache and thick eyebrows, lacy ruffs at the sleeves of his shirt and neck, and a round, red, chubby face. At his belt was a magnificent sword and a gigantic ring sporting dozens of keys. His beady eyes were narrowed with disdain.

I could tell that this was not going to be a pleasant voyage.

"We're no stowaways," Twig said, springing to his feet and producing the posting-pole advertisement from his pocket. "We wish to travel with you to the Great Shryke Slave Market—I take it you are Thunderbolt Vulpoon."

"_Captain_ Thunderbolt Vulpoon," corrected the little guy sniffily, giving his ruffs a tweak and curling his finger around his mustache. "Indeed I am." He raised his eyebrows, then narrowed them just as quickly. "But this is against all the laws of skysailing. Surely you must know that nobody may board a sky ship without its captain's permission. How else can a potential passenger be vetted before setting sail?" He took a step closer, and added, "I don't even know your names."

"I am Twig," responded Twig. The name seemed to mean something to Vulpoon, who looked a little puzzled. "This is my apprentice, Cowlquape, and my companion, Pendragon."

Vulpoon gave a derisive snort. "Riff-raff by any other name would smell as rank." He turned around, and shouted, "Grimlock!"

I went rigid with terror. Out of a trapdoor in the deck came a hideous, lumbering goon. He was bigger even than the cloddertrogs, with a massive, potato-shaped head, a dull, warty face, a huge brow, a nose as big as my head, rows and rows of sharp teeth, and tremendous forearms. This guy would be able to twist us into pretzels like nobody's business. Not only that, but even by First Edge standards he was poorly groomed. His tuft of hair was matted all over the place, his clothes were a raggy mess, and his yellow fingernails were two inches long. He didn't smell too great, either.

"Grimlock be here, master," the dude grunted in a deep, rumbling voice.

"Grimlock, seize these wretches!" commanded the captain, pointing at the three of us. Slowly, the hulking musclehead lumbered towards us, raising his arms.

I was about to puke with fear, but Twig didn't back down. "We are not riff-raff, _Captain_ Vulpoon. We apologize for our rather hasty boarding, but yours was the only ship bound for the slave market, and we didn't want to miss it. Call your minder off."

Vulpoon ignored him, and Grimlock plodded ever closer.

"We can pay," Twig continued hastily, fumbling for the leather pouch filled with gold. "Five gold pieces each, wasn't it?"

Vulpoon seemed to be thinking. He examined us, and then grinned. "Perhaps I've been too hasty. You have the look of academics about you. From Sanctaphrax, no doubt—I'm sure you could manage twenty."

"But…" protested Twig.

Grimlock grabbed Cowlquape's shoulders and lifted him into the air. Cowlquape struggled fruitlessly.

"All right!" Twig yelled desperately. "Twenty it is."

The captain's eyes glinted greedily as he watched a small shower of gold coins fall into his fat little palm. Then he turned to his burly sidekick and said, "Put him down, Grimlock,"

Cowlquape breathed a deep, shuddering sigh as he was placed back on the ground. Vulpoon spat in his palm and shook hands with Twig. Then he did the same for me. The moment the captain's hand grasped Cowlquape's, however, Cowlquape wrenched his hand away with a pained, "_Aaa-oww!_"

"Oh, would you look at that," Vulpoon exclaimed as he examined Cowlquape's palms. "Like two raw hammelhorn steaks!"

Cowlquape's palms were raw, chafed, and bloody. Clearly it had cost him a great deal to hang from the rope for so long.

"We'll have to get you patched up," continued the captain, his eyes sparkling. "A fine specimen like you."

"A specimen?" Cowlquape said with an uncomfortable squirm.

"Did I say _specimen_?" Vulpoon replied hastily. "Sorry, I meant to say, a fine figure of a lad."

Something told me, however, that _specimen_ was exactly what he had meant to say.

"Bright eyes, strong teeth, broad shoulders…"the little captain went on, examining Cowlquape hungrily, "And bound for the Great Shryke Slave Market."

"We have important business there," Twig confirmed with a nod.

"Indeed you have," grinned Vulpoon, sunlight glinting off the many silver teeth in his mouth. "But first things first. Jervis," he commanded imperiously, turning to face the elderly gnokgoblin. "Show our guests to their quarters. And Teasel," he commanded the wizened mobgnome, "Tell Stile there will be three extra mouths to feed—and get something from the medical supplies for the lad's wounds."

Looking nervous, Teasel set off hastily.

"And you," yelled Vulpoon, rounding on Grimlock, "Go down and still the…the cargo." He indicated the mainmast, which was rocking backwards and forwards as the ship swayed more and more insistently. "They're getting too restless."

"Grimlock go," he rumbled, slouching off the way he had come.

Vulpoon turned to us, and with a sigh, he raised his face skyward and mopped his brow. "Worst crew I've ever captained," he muttered bitterly. "Still," he added amiably, "we shall endeavor to ensure that your voyage is a comfortable one."

The _Skyraider_ was rocking more violently than ever. I seized the balustrade to avoid being pitched off the ship. Twig, Cowlquape, and Vulpoon all did the same.

"Live cargo!" snorted Vulpoon. "Trouble is, once they get the jitter up, the whole boat's thrown out of kilter."

"Live cargo?" repeated Twig curiously, redoubling his grip as the ship listed even more fiercely.

"Hammelhorns," replied Vulpoon dismissively, glancing around. "To satisfy the catering needs of the slave market."

Twig nodded. I, on the other hand, was thinking fast. Could we trust this dude? I wasn't at all sure.

Suddenly, a horrifying chorus of howls rose from below deck. I shuddered in horror at the noise; it spoke clearly of misery. Cowlquape also looked unsettled. But then, it was all gone. The howling stopped and the _Skyraider_ righted itself. Grimlock must have done his job.

"_That's_ better," said Vulpoon with a satisfied smirk, as the freshly billowing mainsail provided the ship with an extra burst of speed, and the mud dunes of the Mire below became a blur. He looked at each of us in turn. "So, Jervis, jump to it. And if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. Supper will be served in an hour's time."

Jervis beckoned to us to follow him. We strode across the deck of the ship, and through the trapdoor after him. Down a narrow hallway we walked, past a few doors, until we reached the end. Jervis opened a door for us and ushered us inside.

We found ourselves in a comfortable, spacious cabin with three hammocks dangling from the ceiling, many chests of drawers, and a fair-sized porthole that permitted us to look out over the landscape below. We put down the few possessions we had, and the three of us climbed into the hammocks. Cowlquape buried himself in one of his barkscrolls, and Twig and I resumed work, me on this journal, Twig on his Journal #2 (his first journal was already tucked safely away in Cowlquape's sack).

Dinner later that night was excellent. We sat down to a meal of hammelhorn steaks, tilder sausage, several fresh and tasty vegetables, and goblets of sapwine (I was really starting to develop a taste for the stuff). Thunderbolt Vulpoon constantly asked us if we were satisfied, and to regale him with stories from our lives.

Twig told him all about his adventures as a young boy, lost and wandering in the Deepwoods, about finding his father and learning to be a sky pirate, about all sorts of adventures he had had fighting leaguesmen, and culminating in the action-packed stormchasing voyage he and his father had undertaken. Cowlquape told him about the struggles he had faced being raised by a brutal leaguesman, about being rejected by the academics, and how Twig had saved him from total ruin.

When Vulpoon turned his gaze to me, I had to think fast. My past adventures were thrilling tales, of course, but hardly ones I could tell without being thought insane. I ended up saying that I had journeyed to Undertown from the Deepwoods. Most of my Deepwoods stories were ripoffs of things Twig had said, but Vulpoon didn't seem to notice. My stories held him as spellbound as the stories of Twig and Cowlquape had done.

When at last we had eaten our fill, we retired to our quarters, fell into one of our usual deep discussions about what Saint Dane might be up to, and then fell asleep halfway through. For all my doubts, I couldn't help feeling content.

After many days aboard the _Skyraider_, however, we became as enslaved to routine as, well, as the slaves from the market we were heading to. Nothing changed. Every day, we simply lounged around, being fed and pampered. Over time, I was starting to grow more and more uneasy about the whole thing. And so, I soon discovered, was Cowlquape.

"I just don't trust him," Cowlquape burst out one evening, as he lay on his front in the hammock, looking up from his barkscroll.

"What's that?" said Twig, staring out the porthole absentmindedly. We had long left the Mire, and were traveling over the Deepwoods. The forest below was a truly massive sea of trees, some of them way bigger than any trees I had ever seen. But the novelty had long worn off.

"Thunderbolt Vulpoon," continued Cowlquape. "I don't trust him. Or that hulking great bodyguard of his."

"Me neither, frankly," I cut in, sitting up and letting my legs swing over the side of my hammock. "I still can't get over the way he was talking about Cowlquape on the first day. You know, calling him a _specimen_ and commenting on his build. That's not something a normal person says to another person."

"What's more," Cowlquape went on darkly, "I still don't understand why he's taking a cargo of hammelhorns to the slave market. It can't be profitable." His eyes narrowed meaningfully. "I reckon I know what his live cargo is."

"What?" Twig said, turning away from the porthole to look at his acolyte.

"Slaves," Cowlquape muttered.

"Out of the question," Twig said at once. "Sky ships from Undertown don't carry slaves, you know that."

"But…"

"Undertown is a free town, Cowlquape. And the punishment for attempting to enslave the least of its inhabitants is death," said Twig. "No one would willingly serve on such a ship."

Personally, Twig's arguments did not convince me at all. There were plenty of crooked characters on First Edge, and I could totally believe that Thunderbolt Vulpoon was really a slaver. It would explain an awful lot.

"I still think hammelhorns is an unlikely cargo," insisted Cowlquape with a shrug. "Anyway, we'll see when we get to the market, won't we? Though when _that_ will be, Sky alone knows! Nine days we've been sailing now. Nearly ten…"

"The Deepwoods is vast," Twig said. He turned back to stare out the porthole. "Endless! And the great slave market moves through it, constantly."

"So how will we find it if it shifts from place to place?" asked Cowlquape curiously.

"Nothing is impossible to track, Cowlquape," Twig replied. "It is simply a matter of reading the signs correctly."

"Signs?" Cowlquape repeated, sounding apprehensive.

"Do you mean to tell me there's nothing about the Great Shryke Slave Market in those scrolls of yours?" smiled Twig.

"Nothing that I've come across so far," Cowlquape said, sounding sheepish. "Though my father once told me about the fearsome bird-creatures that run the place—and who give it its name. Shrykes. Flightless. Vicious. With unblinking eyes…"

"The Bloodoak tavern back in Undertown is owned by such a bird-woman," Twig said thoughtfully. "Mother Horsefeather is her name."

"Not to mention those feathered bodyguards the high-hat leaguesmen keep with them," I added.

"What you've got to understand, Cowlquape," Twig went on, "is that the Great Shryke Slave Market is like one huge living organism, moving across the vast Deepwoods, seeking out fresh pastures in the Deepwoods to 'graze'. But in time the market consumes everything around it and the area it has occupied dies. Then it must move on—or die itself. The burnt-out villages it leaves behind offer vital clues to the informed as to where the market has traveled on to. An experienced trader—or a keen-eyed sky pirate captain—can spot and follow the dead groves like footprints, until the great market itself is found."

"Thank Sky we're on a sky ship, then," said Cowlquape, shaking his head. He then peeked underneath the bandages covering his hands. Vulpoon had seen to it that the wound was constantly cleaned and redressed with a fruity salve.

"How are they?" asked Twig.

"Itchy," Cowlquape replied.

"That means they're healing," Twig said encouragingly. "Do you fancy a bit of a walk? Stretch your legs up on deck?"

"I'd rather get back to my reading if it's all the same to you," Cowlquape said, shaking his head.

"As you wish, Cowlquape," Twig replied. "But if you ever get bored with ancient history," he went on, smiling, "you know where to find me. How about you, Pendragon?"

I held up the pages of my journal to indicate I was still writing. Twig shrugged and left the cabin.

Cowlquape seemed a little airsick. Or seasick. Or…whatever-sick. He closed his eyes and massaged his stomach. After a bit more writing, I laid down the journal and stared up at the ceiling groggily. I was dog tired. Soon, I had drifted off to sleep. I expected to be woken up by the periodic chorus of moaning from below, which always made me sit bolt upright.

But this time, I was woken up by something else—a massive ham of a hand clamping tightly over my mouth, and another hand wrapping around my torso and lifting me out of the hammock.

Completely shocked, incapable of making a sound, I turned to stare into the fierce eyes of a mean-looking cloddertrog. I attempted to struggle, but this guy was strong. There was no getting away. I couldn't even cry out to Cowlquape, who was now asleep and blind to what was going on.

Still holding me tight, the cloddertrog left the compartment and set off through the passages of the ship. I was terrified. If it was indeed slaves down in the lower holds, was I about to join them? Would Twig and Cowlquape meet the same fate?

Eventually, the cloddertrog entered a massive, swanky chamber that had to be where Thunderbolt Vulpoon slept. There was ornate furniture, gold trimmings, and rich carpeting everywhere, as well as a great canopy bed. On this bed sat Vulpoon, who was staring at me with a triumphant sneer.

"Excellent, Korb," he said to the cloddertrog in a syrupy voice. "Now bind him!"

Without relaxing his grip on me for a moment, the cloddertrog seized a length of rope and wrapped it around me so tightly that I felt my circulation being cut off to my arms. Soon, I was securely bound. There was no way I was going anywhere. Korb the cloddertrog thrust me roughly into a hard-backed chair.

"You may go," said Vulpoon, waving a hand at Korb. "Teasel should have finished drugging the woodgrog by now. Have Grimlock take it to our other two passengers, and then go back later to retrieve them."

Twig and Cowlquape were in trouble! I thrashed as violently as I could…which wasn't much. I still couldn't talk, due to a large coil of rope which was pressed tightly over my mouth.

Korb left the room, smirking evilly. The door to the cabin shut, leaving me alone with Thunderbolt Vulpoon.

"So…" said the captain, smiling nastily, sliding off the bed and striding towards my chair. "Just the two of us."

He looked down at me—though the effect wasn't too pronounced because of how short he was—and said, "By now, I'm sure you've guessed that my live cargo is not hammelhorns. I am a slave trader."

Like I needed to be told.

"You've probably also been wondering why I didn't throw the three of you in the hold with the rest," Thunderbolt Vulpoon went on. He reached towards my face and began to undo the knots obstructing my mouth. "The three of you are far too valuable for that…especially you."

The knots came undone, allowing me to speak. "You'll never get away with this," I spat.

Thunderbolt Vulpoon stepped back slightly, evidently considering me. And, then, he said the absolute last thing I had expected him to say.

"No, I don't suppose I will."

_Huh_? I was too shocked and bewildered to speak. I just gaped at him.

"You have a persistent little habit of escaping from my clutches each and every time, Pendragon," he continued. "Not that I really wanted it any other way. If I killed you outright, that would prove absolutely nothing, now would it? On the contrary, it is far better to have you jump through hoops. It tests your resolve in a way that would not otherwise be possible."

An icy chill flooded my body. "No way," I croaked feebly.

"Thunderbolt Vulpoon is dead," cackled the man before me. "You should have heard how he squealed. To use Second Earth lingo, it was like taking candy from a baby."

I stared, transfixed, horrified.

"Admit it!" he said, his eyes changing from beady black to an icy, luminous blue-white. "You were starting to _hope_ I'd reveal myself, weren't you?"

And with that, Captain Thunderbolt Vulpoon began to transform. His short, squat body stretched to over six feet tall. His foppish costume changed into a simple, black suit that looked vaguely Asian. His skin became ghostly pale, his head bald and crisscrossed with jagged blood-red scars.

Oh, yeah. I had found Saint Dane.

Lucky me.


	24. Journal 40, Part 6: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

"This is Quillan all over again, Pendragon," said Saint Dane, observing me with an amused smile. "You claim to be fighting me? How am I to blame for the pain and suffering to be found all over First Edge? This territory is what its people made it to be, and I aim to give them a better future. That's what you want for these people, don't you? A better future? Our cause is one and the same. It's just that you haven't realized how to fight for it."

"One and the same?" I shouted incredulously. "You come to each territory, trick the people into bringing about their own destruction, and claim that it's their own fault! You're nothing but a dirty hypocrite! Whatever the territories become, their inhabitants will have no one to blame but you for how their turning point went!"

"Have you understood nothing?" snapped Saint Dane exasperatedly. "It's not about what _I_ am doing to them. It's about their inability to recognize me for what I am. If Halla was achieving its full potential, the people of every territory would turn me away in an instant. They would know what I was up to. But they don't! And this is manifestly a reflection of their ignorance and greed. Under my Halla, there will be no room for such things."

"You've never given the people of Halla a proper chance," I shot back. "You always say that they are irredeemably flawed, but you overlook the fact that mankind _evolves_. Look at Third Earth! You know the history of Earth as well as I do. No, I take that back—you know _more_ about it than I do. And after millennia of ignorance and violence, the people of Earth established a perfect society. That should be enough for you to see what humanity can do when left to its own devices."

Saint Dane chuckled. "Please, Pendragon. You're only embarrassing yourself with such tortured logic."

"Then enlighten me!" I shouted.

"You speak of Third Earth as the dream," Saint Dane replied, "but your _own_ human flaws render you blind to what is truly at stake. You forget that Halla is every _time_ that has ever existed. The path to Third Earth is splattered with blood from the bygone ages of Earth…blood that is still very much with us.

"But more than that, Pendragon, let me ask you something," continued Saint Dane. "What is your definition of a 'perfect society'? If I am to go by your conviction that you consider Third Earth to be perfect, you seem to view perfection as the state that arises when mankind no longer faces any challenges whatsoever. But that's not nearly enough. Put a group of people from Third Earth on First Edge, and they would join the ranks of avaricious leaguesmen or conniving Sanctaphrax academics. Put them on Quillan, and they would wager their children in Veego and LaBerge's games in hopes of winning a few meals. Put them on Veelox, and they would scuttle into jump tubes and never come out. Perfection manifests itself in response, not stimulus."

"You seem to be forgetting one thing," I said, "Third Earth is what it is because of its people, not through random chance. All the problems caused by people were solved by people."

"On that specific point, I will concede defeat," admitted Saint Dane. "But then, having laid the foundations for a tranquil, idyllic society, the people of Earth grew lazy and complacent. They could never handle a real crisis if it emerged. They simply go through the motions of maintaining their world. Whatever commendable actions the people of Earth may have performed, they shortly regressed. I on the other hand, plan to change the very tenets of human nature. Regression and laziness will never be tolerated again."

"The people of the territories shouldn't have to have an all-powerful tyrant ruling over them to make their decisions," I retorted. "Humanity as we know it could not survive!"

"You say that as if it is a bad thing," Saint Dane sighed. "The very concept of 'humanity' is useless and destructive. Its flaws know no bounds. It engenders violence and hate. Yet you continue to insist that there is a place for it. I believe nothing of the sort, and I should have thought that our exploits throughout Halla would have brought you around to this view as well. Your ideology is sinking faster than an overheated flight-rock, and yet you still stubbornly cling to it."

"You want to know the biggest reason why I cling to it?" I said.

"I would desire nothing more," replied Saint Dane.

"Where's the evidence that _you_ deserve to be the arbiter of right and wrong?" I said, staring right into those icy eyes I knew so well. "Where's the proof that you are not yourself shackled by the very flaws you seek to eradicate? Bad ideas are swamped by the righteous masses, not by any one person. The only way you could create a perfect world is if you yourself were perfect. But I've seen your human side. I've seen your judgment clouded by anger and spite and vindictiveness. You want to model everything in Halla after yourself? I don't see the faintest indication that that would be good for anyone but you."

The scars on Saint Dane's forehead throbbed, and his eyes flashed. "You don't know me!" he screamed. "You don't know what I am capable of! I am a reflection of what Halla is! It is only through purging it of impurity that the truth of my abilities will shine! You have made a willful choice to shut out the reality of existence. By the time you see Halla as I do, and understand the inferiority of your philosophy, it will be too late for you. Too late for _all_ the Travelers!"

Saint Dane backed away, sat back down on the canopy bed, and sighed again. "Until then," he said, his voice level once more, "I suppose you will continue to obstruct my plans, starting with what I have planned for First Edge."

"Uh, yeah," I said.

"A pity that your knowledge of the turning point is so limited," Saint Dane went on, smiling. "The fact is, if only you had known from the beginning, it would have been only too easy for you to save the territory. But with each passing day, your task shall grow more daunting."

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "What's the turning point?"

"Why ask me?" taunted Saint Dane. "That silly sky pirate Traveler knows the answer to that question. Oh, but the white storm robbed him of his memory. That's a shame! In that case, you might as well continue on your wild goose chase to rescue his crewmembers…for what it's worth, they are _all_ still alive. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll learn something along the way. Oh, and I almost forgot," he added, flicking something small and gray at me. It twirled through the air and landed in my lap. "Cloud Wolf's ring. It's a bit unusual for both the current and previous Traveler to have had one at the same time, but that's probably why Twig's timid little acolyte has gone with bare fingers. I have no need for it, and if you get out of this one I'm sure you'll want to give it to him."

The demon dissolved into a cloud of black smoke. When he reformed, he was Captain Thunderbolt Vulpoon once again. "But remember," he added in his nasally voice, "I am the captain of the _Skyraider_, and I intend to stay that way. You'll fetch me a hefty price at the Great Shryke Slave Market." Cackling, he left the room.

"Hey! You can't just leave me here!" I bellowed. Wait, of course he could. Way to use your head, Bobby, this is your freaking nemesis we're talking to! I remained tied to this chair in the captain's cabin, completely unable to move.

I had to alert Twig and Cowlquape to what was going on. Cowlquape was surely on his guard already—he had never trusted Vulpoon, and my disappearance would surely confirm his suspicions, but he could not possibly know exactly who he was dealing with.

I tried to wriggle. It was impossible. I didn't dare cry out, for fear of attracting Korb or Grimlock. I was totally, utterly trapped.

How long I remained there, I did not know. I was alone with my terrified thoughts. I feared for the Twig and Cowlquape, for the territory, and for myself. But there was nothing I could do. The Deepwoods rushed on below, just visible through the portholes.

Then, suddenly, the door creaked open, and I heard a familiar voice. "Well, well, well! We've struck lucky."

It was Twig. My heart leapt.

"We must be in Vulpoon's quarters," came Cowlquape's voice. "It's…magnificent!"

"There's certainly profit to be had from the misery of others," muttered Twig's voice darkly.

Twig and Cowlquape entered the room. Then, they caught sight of me tied to the chair. They stood frozen in shock for a second. "Pendragon!" gasped Twig. "There you are! Are you all right? What did that scoundrel do to you?"

"That cloddertrog, Korb, tied me up. How did you escape? He said he was going to drug you…"

"We were too smart to be taken in like that," said Twig triumphantly, as he worked to undo the knots binding me to the chair. "Korb and Teasel came down expecting to find us sound asleep. Cowlquape was amazing…he held off Korb long enough for me to take him out, then dealt with Teasel quick as a flash."

"That was an accident," said Cowlquape modestly. "I landed on top of him."

"Yeah, well, it was still incredible," said Twig, as the ropes fell away. "Anyway, Pendragon, we're going to mutiny and take control of the _Skyraider_."

"It was exactly as I feared," said Cowlquape. "Thunderbolt Vulpoon is a slaver, and he plans to sell us to the Roost-Mother of the Great Shryke Slave Market!"

"There's more to it than that," I whispered urgently, standing up and looking at the two of them. "Thunderbolt Vulpoon is Saint Dane."

"What?" gasped Twig, completely astounded.

"I told you, he can transform to look like anyone he wants. There used to be a real Captain Thunderbolt Vulpoon, but Saint Dane disposed of him and took his place. He doesn't really care about the profits; he just wants to stop us from saving the territory."

"Sky Above," muttered Cowlquape.

I reached down and picked up the Traveler ring Saint Dane had tossed at me, which had rolled off my lap and was now lying on the floor. "Saint Dane was holding onto this," I explained, handing it to Cowlquape. "It's Cloud Wolf's Traveler ring. I think it's high time that First Edge's acolyte finally got the tools of the trade."

Astonished, Cowlquape slipped on the ring, examining the dark gray stone and the symbols etched in the band. "How…how do I use it?" he asked.

"If Twig's on another territory, he'll send you his journals through the ring," I said. "You can use the ring too. You can't contact the Travelers, but you can send messages to their acolytes. If you need to communicate with any of the other acolytes, just say their name loudly and clearly, and a small portal will open up in the center of the ring that you can drop notes into. The acolytes I know of are Wu Yenza on Cloral, Dodger on First Earth, Evangeline on Veelox, Boon on Eelong, Saangi on Zadaa…oh, and my own acolytes on Second Earth are Mark Dimond and Courtney Chetwynde."

Cowlquape nodded, gazing at the ring reverently.

"Well, then," said Twig, a confident expression back on his face, "If the captain of this ship is indeed Saint Dane, it'll make our mutiny that much more satisfying!"

With that, Twig flung open the mirrored doors of the numerous wardrobes on every side of the room, examining the handsome, extravagant clothing. He removed one of the most magnificent garments—a long, quilted jacket of dark magenta with a fancy brocade and feathered cuffs—and pulled it on, examining himself in the wardrobe doors.

"What do you think?" he inquired, smiling.

"Well, it's…" Cowlquape paused, then shook his head, saying, "I don't know what we're doing in here."

"You're right, Cowlquape," Twig laughed.

"You found me," I piped up. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Oh, of course," Twig said. "But it's time we left. Come on."

A few minutes later, we were up on deck, breathing in the cool night air as it blew by. Everything was dark, the silhouettes of the Deepwoods trees just visible beneath the elaborate canopy of stars. Have you guys ever seen the night sky without any pollution to obscure the stars? Oh, yeah, of course you did, back during our adventure on Eelong. Remember how gorgeous it was? It was just as beautiful here, far from Undertown and its rank foundries.

"Ah, fresh air," sighed Twig. "A following wind. The sheer exhilaration of soaring across the endless sky."

I couldn't help but feel excited myself. At least we knew where Saint Dane was. And whether or not we were on the right track to thwart his schemes, it would at least feel good to give him just a little payback.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane was at the helm once more, Grimlock beside him. Twig put a finger to his lips, and started creeping silently towards the helm. Of course, Saint Dane probably expected us to do this, but if we had a chance to get the element of surprise on our side, we sure as hell weren't going to pass it up.

Then, abruptly, the whole ship was lit up with an eerie purple glow as something exploded far above.

"_Waah!_" bellowed Grimlock.

Uh oh. Had he seen us? A second later we all breathed a sigh of relief. Grimlock was pointing not at us, but up into the air, at the source of the purple light.

"_Fire!_" Grimlock roared in terror. "Grimlock see fire!"

"Be still, you fool!" snapped Vulpoon/Saint Dane. "It's not fire. It's the signal flare."

Grimlock cocked his lumpy head in puzzlement. "Signal flare?"

"Oh, Grimlock, Grimlock," groaned the captain/demon Traveler, waving a handkerchief at his goon's face. "There isn't a lot going on in there, is there?" He sighed in exasperation. "The signal flair alerts the guards at the slave market that there are slaves on board!" He clapped his hands greedily. "And what a lot of slaves we've got. Mother Muleclaw will be so pleased with me."

"Mother Muleclaw," rumbled Grimlock, looking tense.

"Aye, the roost-mother herself," continued Vulpoon/Saint Dane. "She's the one our three fine young gentlemen are going to." He smirked evilly. "I wonder if they'll last any longer than the last lot?"

Twig eyed the fake sky pirate captain with distaste, and then beckoned us forward. We were going for it.

"So," said Twig abruptly, emerging out of the shadows, "when is our estimated time of arrival in the slave market?"

"You!" cried Vulpoon/Saint Dane, spinning around with a horrified expression. "What are you doing here? Where are Teasel and Korb?"

"Sleeping soundly," smirked Twig.

"But this is an outrage!" screamed Vulpoon/Saint Dane, his face going scarlet. "You're meant to be…"

"Asleep?" Twig finished, drawing his sword. "Bound and gagged? All trussed up for market?" He was now walking in a circle around Vulpoon/Saint Dane, examining him intently.

"I…You…It's…" spluttered Vulpoon/Saint Dane, "And that's _my_ jacket you're wearing!" he suddenly shrieked, pointing with a trembling hand at Twig. "GRIMLOCK! SEE TO THEM!"

Grimlock started to plod over to us.

I glanced at Twig, expecting to see him backing away in terror. But instead, to my astonishment, he held his ground and said calmly, "See, Grimlock." He ran his hands over the jacket.

"Pretty clothes," Grimlock breathed, looking suddenly excited. What the heck?

And then, it hit me. Saint Dane had done nothing but treat the crew of the _Skyraider_ like dirt. Twig must have spoken with Grimlock at some point, and realized that he could be won over with just a little kindness.

"Grimlock!" roared Vulpoon/Saint Dane in anger. Grimlock ignored him, drooling as he gazed at the jacket Twig had taken from the captain's quarters.

"It could be yours, Grimlock," said Twig with a smile. "All yours." Slowly and deliberately, Twig began to take off the jacket. "Would you like it, Grimlock? Shall I give you the pretty jacket? Shall I?"

Grimlock seemed confused. He glanced first to Vulpoon/Saint Dane, then at the jacket. Twig was now holding it out in front of him.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane hopped up and down in fury. "Grimlock, obey! Do as you're told!"

Grimlock gave a huge smile and stepped over to Twig. "Take it," said Twig, holding out the jacket. Grimlock gingerly grasped the jacket, and pulled it on. "Pretty jacket!" he beamed. "Grimlock pretty!"

That was really stretching it, if you asked me. The jacket had transformed Grimlock from a filthy, misshapen brute into…a filthy, misshapen brute wearing a jacket. And it was much too small for him, so it couldn't even conceal the torn-up clothes underneath. But the important thing was that Grimlock was happy. And on our side.

Twig was now standing directly in front of Vulpoon/Saint Dane, with his sword pointed at his face. "It would have taken so little to ensure the loyalty of your crew. And after all, you have so much." He turned back, with a contemptuous expression on his face. "Remove his keys and tie him up, Cowlquape."

"Please, please," begged Vulpoon/Saint Dane. "No, don't do that, I implore you. I didn't mean anything. Really…it was all a misunderstanding…_Please!_"

"And gag him, Cowlquape!" Twig added with a grimace. "I'll listen to no more of this creature's spineless whining." Cowlquape immediately leapt to it.

I wondered why Saint Dane was still playing the part now that the jig was up. But then it struck me. Perhaps he didn't realize the jig _was_ up yet. Maybe he hoped he could still manipulate Twig and Cowlquape for a while longer before I revealed his true identity. Or maybe there was some other reason that I can only guess at, because he's always five steps ahead of me and it was all part of a plan I had yet to realize. Whatever. Just another thing about this dude that I don't understand. I'm sure that when I know all there is to know about Saint Dane, I'll understand everything about this battle. But when that will be, I have no idea.

Twig was now at the helm, his hands dancing up and down the levers just as I had seen him do aboard the _Edgedancer_. He then raised his telescope and peered around. His gaze alighted on a point far off to starboard. "We've found it," he said quietly. "We've found the Great Shryke Slave Market."


	25. Journal 40, Part 7: First Edge

JOURNAL #40  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Twig redirected the ship with several adjustments of the controls, and we began sailing for the point he had seen through the telescope. And soon, the market came into view, visible as a fuzzy line of yellow light in the distance. Thousands of plumes of smoke were drifting up from the tree canopy, clearly demarcating the edges of the market from the rest of the Deepwoods.

As we drew nearer, I also began to pick things up with my other senses. There was white noise coming from this patch of light. And there were lots of smells, too. I smelled all kinds of foods and perfumes and smoke. And every so often, I caught a foul scent underneath it all, which put me in mind of decay, suffering, and death.

More detail started to become visible. Poking out of the surrounding trees were hundreds and hundreds of bustling, rickety wooden bridges. At first, it put me in mind of the network of sky bridges in the klee city of Leeandra on Eelong. But that's where the similarities ended. Instead of the sturdy, solid construction of the Leeandra bridges, these walkways were uneven and weaving; they twisted and dipped every which way, propped up by haphazard masses of ropes tied to stripped tree trunks. It looked very crude, not to mention dangerous.

Here and there, big torches were strung up, lighting up the innards of the market. Cages dangled from the paths as well, which seemed to contain all kinds of animals and people. There were also crude stalls and kiosks attached to the trees in various places. All in all, this place was easily as bustling and frenzied as any Undertown street.

I didn't like it one little bit.

"You're right to be apprehensive," Twig said, noticing that Cowlquape and I had shuddered a little. "For all its glitter and dazzle, the Great Shryke Slave Market is a terrible place. It claims for itself the unwary, the foolish…" He laid his hands on each of our shoulders. "But not us. We shall not fall into its clutches."

"A thousand strides, and closing," shouted the lookout from up in the caternest.

Twig fidgeted with the controls, and the _Skyraider_ began to descend.

"Five hundred strides! Landing-stage on the port bow."

I looked down, and saw that this part of the market was taken up by a series of flimsy wooden jetties. At the end of each was a squat little hut with a high, pointed roof. This had to be where the sky ships arrived and departed. We were approaching an empty jetty, at the end of which was one of the familiar, menacing bird-creatures. It was holding another one of those purple flares, and waving it in our direction, plainly telling us we were cleared for landing.

"A shryke," Cowlquape muttered.

"One hundred strides!"

Each of the sails slowly came down, the ship lost speed, and we dipped towards the edge of the platform.

Jervis suddenly appeared on deck, accompanied by a disfigured, thin guy who had to be the ship's cook. Their eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of their captain bound and gagged, and Twig piloting the ship. And what was more, they didn't seem at all unhappy about it.

With a loud clunk, the gangplank at the end of the jetty swung down onto the stern of the _Skyraider_. I turned to see a massive party of shrykes boarding our ship. Gulp. Did they expect Thunderbolt Vulpoon to be captaining the ship? Were they going to arrest us? Fortunately, the situation didn't seem to surprise them.

One of the shrykes stepped forwards—a stocky individual adorned with multicolored beads. She gazed at Twig with her beady, unblinking eyes and said, "What have you got to trade?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," said Twig. "Bit of a mix-up in Undertown. We ended up carrying hammelhorns instead of slaves."

No surprise there. I didn't believe for a second that Twig was going to sell Saint Dane's cargo. But nevertheless, he was putting us in a delicate position. The last thing we needed to do was cross the shrykes the instant we landed, and they were expecting us to deliver them some slaves.

The leader of the shrykes certainly looked pissed at the news. "Do you mean to tell me," she squawked in outrage, "there are only free citizens on board?"

"Except for one," Twig said with a small grin. He reached out with his foot and nudged the tied-up figure of Vulpoon/Saint Dane. "A prime specimen. Links with academics, or so I understand."

"Really?" said the shryke, sounding interested once more. She turned to one of the other shrykes. "The roost-mother might be interested."

"My thoughts entirely," threw in Twig.

"How much are you asking?" inquired the shryke.

Twig froze for a second, clearly thinking hard. Obviously he was unfamiliar with the pricing of slaves. "A hundred and fifty," he finally said, apparently hoping that this was a reasonable figure.

The shryke glared suspiciously at Twig, and said "Roundels or docklets?"

I had no idea what either of those was worth, and neither, it seemed, did Twig. "R…roundels," he tried.

The shryke clucked in disgust, and made to leave. Bad move.

"I mean, docklets," Twig amended quickly. "A hundred and fifty docklets. I'm sure Mother Muleclaw won't be able to resist getting her claws into him." He added with a smile.

The shryke seemed to consider the revised offer. "The price is still high," she said at last, "But…it's a deal."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Having to lug Saint Dane around with us wouldn't have been cool on a whole lot of levels.

Behind us, the assembled crew of the _Skyraider_ let out a raucous cheer. The shryke seized the trussed-up figure, and one of her lackeys dropped a small handful of coins into Twig's palm. Vulpoon/Saint Dane struggled fiercely, to no avail (even though I didn't believe for a second that he was in any real danger).

"_Mffll bwfll blmmf!_" he bellowed through his gag.

"The same to you!" retorted Jervis. "And good riddance."

Twig darted forward to get one last look at the enemy. "Until next time, Saint Dane!" he shouted in triumph.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane wheeled his gaze to meet Twig's, and his eyes flashed blue in anger. Twig staggered backwards, startled. I knew the feeling…Saint Dane's glare was enough to make anyone's blood run cold. But he shortly recovered, and looked around at all of us.

"What's to become of us now, though?" Jervis asked Twig.

"Of you? You're all free," Twig replied. "You can do what you want, go where you want…Back to Undertown, for a start, then who knows?"

"Please, young master, take us back," Jervis begged, seizing Twig's hands. "We need a captain if we are to sail the ship."

"No I…" Twig mumbled awkwardly, "It's not possible. We…that is, Cowlquape, Pendragon, and I have business to attend to…"

Cowlquape stepped forward and whispered something in Twig's ear.

"Don't worry, Cowlquape, I haven't forgotten," came Twig's barely audible reply. He turned back to the crew. "When I said 'you're all free', I meant it. _All_ those on board the _Skyraider_—each and every one—are free."

"You mean…?" said Jervis in astonishment. "The…the slaves?"

"Yes, old-timer," Twig said. "Those you helped to waylay and transport to this terrible place are as free as yourself. And I warrant that there'll be creatures amongst them who have some skill in skysailing." He turned back to me and Cowlquape. "Come. Let us go and release Saint Dane's prisoners."

The three of us broke away from the crew and went back below deck. We continued our descent, deeper than we had ever gone into the bowels of the _Skyraider_. Down here, it was dark and fetid, reeking of soiled straw and B.O. The cries of the prisoners were louder than ever, and they redoubled as they heard footsteps.

"Is there someone there? Water! Water!" moaned a chorus of voices.

"Something to eat."

"Korb! Korb, is that you?"

"Have mercy on us, I beg you!"

We reached a massive door at the end of a hallway. Cowlquape held up the ring of keys he had taken from the captain. Choosing the biggest one, Cowlquape inserted it into the keyhole and turned it. The door swung open.

"_Pfwooah!_" gagged Cowlquape feebly. I couldn't blame him; this place smelled like…well, like a bunch of slaves that hadn't washed in weeks.

"Hide your revulsion," Twig muttered to us. "It is not the prisoners' fault that their conditions are so disgusting. It is the greed the led to their imprisonment that is to blame for this foul place."

This vast room in the belly of the hull was filled with crowds of people representing tons of First Edge races, each and every one of them chained to the walls. They were all emaciated and filthy, and looked desperately hungry. They also looked seriously confused.

"Where's Korb?"

"Where's our food and water?"

"What's going on?"

"Why aren't we sailing anymore?"

"Friends," Twig proclaimed loudly, raising his hands in the air, "Your ordeal is over! The _Skyraider_ is to return to Undertown! And you will travel with it, to be reunited with your families."

The prisoners looked absolutely dumbstruck. Twig might have just told them that he was from Neptune. Except there was no Neptune here, but you get my meaning.

"You are going home!" he continued, brandishing the ring of keys. "As free citizens! You, and the crew that tyrant enslaved. There will be no slaves at all on board this sky ship ever again!"

There was a second of dumbstruck stillness. Then, a flat-head goblin let loose a bellowing cheer, and suddenly every prisoner was whooping and roaring with joy. I felt the _Skyraider_ shudder beneath us.

When at last the cries and yells began to die down, Twig spoke again. "Now, I need volunteers to crew this ship. How many of you have experience in skysailing?"

Five or six of them put up their hands eagerly.

"We've done our bit," Twig said with a smile, turning towards me and Cowlquape. "They'll be able to get back safely to Undertown. Our quest lies in the slave market." He redirected his attention towards the prisoners. "You will all be unshackled. Be patient. Your turn will come."

Twig handed me and Cowlquape some of the keys, and we each set about freeing the prisoners along the sides of the room. As each one was released, he or she bounded out of the room and towards the stairs to the deck, to taste the fresh air yet again. Some cried with joy, others wrung our hands and hugged us and offered us their eternal gratitude. It felt good. Lately I've become less sure of my role as a Traveler, and whether I have made the right decisions in this war, but as I stood here in this filthy hold, releasing the poor, wretched souls condemned to a lifetime of bondage, I could honestly feel proud of what I was doing. These souls of Halla had done nothing to deserve their fate. They were cruelly thrown into the cogs of society. And now they were going to get a second chance. I hoped that our actions might inspire them to do what was right when the time came for them to make tough decisions.

At last, only two of the prisoners were left. One was a young gnokgoblin with a hollow face and a patch over his eye. The other was a tiny figure huddled at the other end of the hull, cast in shadow. Cowlquape stepped over to the second prisoner and fumbled with the lock. But it wouldn't budge.

"I can't unlock this one," said Cowlquape, beckoning Twig over. "It must be the key—or the rusty lock. Or something."

"Let me try my key," replied Twig. "I won't be a minute," he added to the still-shackled gnokgoblin."

Twig stepped over and bent down. "Let me see. Ah, yes, I think I've got it." He then wheeled around, startled. "Cowlquape? What's the matter?"

"I don't believe it!" Cowlquape shouted in amazement. "Look, Twig, look!"

"What is it, Cowlquape?" Twig asked, confused. "Tell me…"

"It's fate, Twig!" Cowlquape interrupted. "It's fate! Fate itself must have brought us to this place!"

"Cowlquape," Twig said urgently, "What are you talking about?"

I suddenly realized what Cowlquape was getting at. We were all glowing again! Within a few seconds, Twig noticed as well, and a look of comprehension came over his face.

"It can't be," he gasped, as the figure shielded a pair of gigantic eyes from the bright light. "Can it? Spooler? Can it really be you?"

We had found the fourth crew member! No wonder we had no luck searching in Undertown.

"Captain Twig?" breathed the oakelf in astonishment. "Captain Twig!"

"Spooler!" Twig cried in jubilation, and wrapped his arms around the lookout of the _Edgedancer_. "It _is_ you!" He spun around to face Cowlquape. "It's Spooler! The fourth missing crew member. Oh, Spooler," he pulled away and stared at the oakelf. "I hoped…but I never dreamed…But tell me, how did you end up in this terrible place?"

"I…I'm not sure, Captain," said Spooler slowly. "It's all a blur."

"We were on board the _Edgedancer_," Twig said, trying to jog Spooler's memories. "Tethered to the caterbird. We set off into open sky in search of my father, Cloud Wolf."

"Yes, yes. That I remember," said Spooler quickly. "And I remember seeing the weather vortex from the top of the caternest, coming closer and closer…"

"Yes?" Twig urged him.

"And then, nothing," finished Spooler hopelessly. "The next thing I knew I was lying in the gutter in the Undertown fish market."

Twig was clearly disappointed, but did his best to hide it.

"I seem to be the only one who can remember anything of the inside of the weather vortex," I threw in. "The _Edgedancer_ took a pounding, drifted into a big empty place, and Twig was reunited with his father briefly…though what Cloud Wolf said, nobody can remember. Then, the _Stormchaser_ faded and there was a blinding explosion…and we all went rocketing back to the Edge."

"I was hoping you could jog my own memories," Twig added to Spooler. "I think my father told me something crucially important…but I can't remember for the life of me what it is. But enough of that…how did you end up here?"

"A mobgnome found me," Spooler said. "He offered me somewhere to spend the night; he gave me something to drink. Woodgrog…" His voice trailed away, and his expression grew dark. "And then…And then, _this_!"

Spooler burst into tears, trembling all over. Twig laid a hand on the oakelf's shoulder.

"It's all right, Spooler. You're safe now," Twig said kindly. "We've found you—though Sky alone knows how. And now this sky ship will take you back to Undertown."

"But what is there for me in Undertown?" wailed Spooler.

"You must make your way to my study in Sanctaphrax," Twig replied. "The others are waiting for me there: Tarp, Bogwitt, Sleet. They will be delighted to see you. You can wait with them. The three of us shall return when we have discovered what has happened to the rest of the missing crew." He grasped Spooler's hands. "And we must travel on alone, Spooler. We can't take you with us. The glow that we create when we are together is already hard to conceal; your presence would make us too conspicuous."

Spooler wrenched his hands free of Twig's. "No," he said sharply. "No, Captain. I cannot spend another moment on this evil vessel."

"But Spooler," Twig protested, "I've explained…"

"I can be useful to you," Spooler cut across him. "On the long voyage hear I gleaned a considerable amount of information—vital information—about the slave market from some of my fellow prisoners."

"But, Spooler…" Twig tried to say again.

"Besides, I am an oakelf," Spooler continued. "Observant. Sensitive. My faculties are sharp. And like all other oakelves I know how to read the signs in the behavior of others. I will be able to determine how the slave market operates."

Twig gave his head an agitated shake. Clearly he was uncomfortable with the idea, but I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I understood Twig's concern for Spooler's safety and for our own, and I knew that, as when Tarp was with us, Spooler's presence would limit our ability to discuss Traveler matters openly. But on the other hand, if the Great Shryke Slave Market was as bad as I suspected, having Spooler to guide us could mean the difference between life and death.

"And as for the glowing," Spooler was saying, "apparently, there are all sorts in the market. _All_ sorts! Including creatures that glow—the glimpelt when its fur gets wet, the fritts when their frightened, the lumhorn when it's attacked…No one will give us a second look."

Twig looked at Cowlquape. His acolyte merely shrugged, and he turned to me. I shrugged as well; I figured it should be Twig's decision.

"If you transgress just one of the unwritten laws of this place, then you're done for," Spooler continued meaningfully, sliding his finger across his throat. "Believe me, Captain, without my help in the Great Shryke Slave Market, you won't last ten minutes."

"He's got a point," Twig said thoughtfully.

"He certainly has!" nodded Cowlquape, looking scared.

"Then it's decided," said Twig. "We shall continue as four."

"I think…oh, what's that phrase that the Travelers are supposed to say?" Cowlquape muttered, scratching his head for a second, "_This is the way it was meant to be_." I gave him a small smile, and he continued, looking somber. "I read something in the barkscrolls the night before last, something that I think is important. It is what Kobold the Wise said to his followers as they gathered at Riverrise to await the Mother Storm. '_We are all but puppets, waiting for our strings to be tweaked. Our lives are nothing more than the workings of an unseen hand that holds those strings._'"

"And you think someone or something tweaked _our_ strings, do you?" Twig asked with a smile.

"I'm just telling you what I read," Cowlquape replied.

"Someone _is_ tweaking our strings," I said quietly, excluding Spooler. "That someone is Saint Dane. Remember, he took the form of Thunderbolt Vulpoon to interfere with us. And it just so happened that one of his prisoners was a crew member of the _Edgedancer_. No way that can be a coincidence. It never is. He always plays with us, on every territory he targets."

"I know," Twig replied in a whisper. "But his latest plan failed. We were a step ahead of him."

I realized that Twig didn't get it. He wasn't taking the demon seriously enough. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before he would understand exactly what he was up against. It had to be, or we would have no chance at saving this territory.

"And perhaps you and your Kobold the Wise are right," Twig added to Cowlquape. "After all, here we are—we've found the fourth member of my crew. It's more than I'd ever thought possible. Perhaps there is also a benign unseen hand at work. But if so, Cowlquape, my friend, then I hope its grip is strong, for I feel the greatest test lies ahead of us out there."

"In the slave market," shivered Cowlquape.

"The slave market!" Spooler repeated darkly. "And I shall be your guide."

"Good, well, if that's decided," came a sudden voice from the other side of the hull. We had totally forgotten about the gnokgoblin, still chained up. "Then will someone please release _me_."

* * *

><p>I'm gonna end my journal here, guys. I'm sitting in the hold of the <em>Skyraider<em>, and I'm preparing to set off with Twig, Cowlquape, and Spooler into the heart of the Great Shryke Slave Market in search of more crew members. I'll confess to you now, I'm scared. I'm about to get a taste of First Edge at its worst, and it hasn't exactly been a picnic up until now. And I'm disturbed by what Saint Dane told me about the turning point, too. It made me more desperate than ever to discover what's going to happen.

More than that, though, I'm scared of how cocky Twig is getting about Saint Dane. He's emerged from his first brush with the demon thinking that he got one over on him. Every time I've thought that, reality quickly slapped me in the face. Saint Dane is not a guy you can get one over on, and no Traveler who believes he can is going to fully appreciate the scale of his responsibilities.

At least I can be grateful for some things. Tarp, Bogwitt, Sleet, and Spooler were all found. That's much more than I could have possibly hoped for, and I know Twig feels the same way. Saint Dane told me all the crew members are still alive. I can't possibly begin to understand how he would know something like that, but I believe he was telling me the truth. Of course, this makes me wonder if we're actually supposed to be hunting for them, if Saint Dane gave us an open invitation to do so. But what are we supposed to do? Leave them to their fate?

Keep thinking of me. I'll write soon.

END OF JOURNAL #40


	26. Veelox, Part 1

**~ VEELOX ~**

Once they had finished reading, the three of them sat in silence for a few moments. Then, Mark said "I gotta say, the more I learn about First Edge, the more unpleasant it seems."

"I'm dying to know what happened in the Great Shryke Slave Market," said Courtney. "That place sounds horrible."

"Well, then, we should begin our search for the next journal right away," said Press, confidently striding down the hall. Mark and Courtney scrambled after him.

They found a stairwell and began to climb it. As they climbed, they began to hear a far-off noise. They hadn't expected this at all. Was Rubic City inhabited once more? All they knew about Veelox was that Veego had returned from Quillan and sent an army of security dados to Ibara with the intention of conquering the island.

They reached the top of the stairwell, turned the corner, and entered the main chamber of the Lifelight pyramid…to find that it was packed with people. The bright sunlight that shone in through gaping holes in the sides of the pyramid illuminated thousands of faces. Every level of the great structure, every catwalk, every jump-tube-lined balcony was crowded. They all wore threadbare clothes and looked filthy and unkempt.

Mark and Courtney's immediate first thought was, _Flighters_! But a few seconds later, it dawned on them that these people must be civilized. There was a sense of order to what was going on here. Certainly the fact that lots of people were in deep, intense discussion made it look unlikely that these people were Flighters. But then who were they?

The people seemed to be lining up at stations near the central elevator tube of the pyramid, gathering meager rations of food and water. All that appeared to be on the menu was a crusty brown vegetable, torn into strips and boiled in cauldrons. They were actually using open flames on the floor to heat the water. Furthermore, it seemed that the liquid used to cook the vegetables was swiftly repurposed as drinking water. Whatever else might be true about these people, Mark and Courtney thought it safe to assume that they were living in grinding poverty.

"Seeker or Flighter?"

The sharp voice behind them made all three jump. They turned to see a group of suspicious men staring them down with their arms folded. The speaker had a lined face and a salt-and-pepper beard.

"N…neither," croaked Mark. "We're friends."

They reached forward and seized our triptyte hats, examining them suspiciously. "I've never seen anything like this," said the original speaker. "Is it a weapon?"

"I've never seen Seekers armed with anything like this," said another.

"They're used for light," said Press at once. "We are not armed. We have no hostile intentions."

The men stared at Mark, Courtney, and Press for a few more seconds, and then their leader said, "I don't know who you are, but you don't look as though you're from Rubic, or Ibara. Though why you have come _here_, I'm very interested to know. We have nothing to offer you. As you can see, we have barely enough for ourselves."

"You live in this Lifelight pyramid?" said Mark.

He nodded. "This is the Horizon Compound. But we also inhabit some other parts of Rubic City, and the Kanda coastline. The Ravinians have taken most everything useful from us, but we managed to improvise well enough to ensure our relative safety. Unwelcome visitors are inevitable, however."

"Unwelcome visitors?" said Courtney.

"Flighters, first of all," he said. "Now and then some of them slip through our defenses. It's not too common anymore, though; we're little better off than they are. Looting us is pointless."

"You said something about 'Seekers'," said Press. "I'm not familiar with that term."

"They make far more frequent visits to the Horizon Compound," said the man. "And unlike the Flighters, there is nothing we can do about them."

"Who are they?" said Mark.

But at that moment, a low, buzzing drone sounded somewhere outside the walls of the pyramid. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. A few of them gasped. Some of them cowered.

"You're about to get a first-hand look," said the man.

As the buzzing noise grew louder and louder, and the thousands of people in the Lifelight pyramid exchanged panic-stricken looks, a massive wall of blinding light suddenly erupted on the far wall, making Mark and Courtney shield their eyes. Squinting at it, they saw it for what it was…a giant television screen. They didn't know what to make of this huge display…none of Bobby's journals from Veelox had described anything like this inside the Lifelight pyramid in Rubic City…and in any case, the very fact that this screen seemed to have power made it out of the ordinary. The screen was divided in two, broadcasting separate images on its left and right side.

The left image showed a cold, sly-looking woman with meticulously slicked-back hair, a dark purple pantsuit, and a self-satisfied smile. She sat behind a desk in a sparsely-furnished, imposing office. Behind her, a window revealed neatly ordered tall gray buildings stretching off into blackness.

The right image, on the other hand, could not have been more different. It showed a boisterous-looking man with a bouncy tangle of blond curls. He was wearing a rainbow-striped blazer and a massive, toothy grin. The scene he was standing in was a massive, leafy garden filled with massive, multicolored flowers, and garishly-colored castle towers loomed in the background. Creepiest of all, the garden was decorated with things that looked vaguely like Native American totem poles, but with clown heads.

Mark and Courtney may not have understood much of what they had seen in the few minutes since they had arrived on Veelox with Press, but the sight of these two people started to make things click. They had never met either of them, but they had been described only too well in Bobby's journals.

It was Veego and LaBerge.

LaBerge was the first one to speak. He opened up the sinister broadcast with one of his nauseating rhymes.

"Hello, Horizon Class! Who among you has the brass? We'll have some fun, and when we're done, you'll either fail or pass!"

LaBerge burst out laughing in excitement. Mark and Courtney felt shivers running down their spine. Nothing about this setup sounded good.

Veego waited until her brother was silent once more, and then began talking. "Greetings to everyone in Rubic City. It is time, once again, to select our challengers for the Ibara Games."

"Ibara Games?" whispered Courtney in horror. The leader of the group of men that had apprehended the three of them merely shook his head and continued watching the screen, looking faintly sick.

At once, several people marched into the central chamber of the Lifelight pyramid. Leading the group was a line of people wearing bright yellow uniforms. In the center of their chests was a pair of jagged black lightning bolts surrounding the familiar five-pointed star of Ravinia. Trailing them were dozens of stiff, square-jawed men with crisp green uniforms and golden helmets…the unmistakable attire of Blok security dados.

"As all of you are aware," Veego continued, smirking, "last month, the Conclave of Ravinia gave the games an entertainment rating of 783…an unprecedented level."

LaBerge clapped and cheered.

"As a result of this momentous achievement, we rewarded you with a shipment of freshly harvested dallix from the Agricultural Sector. But naturally, we shall be raising our expectations."

As one, everyone in the pyramid groaned.

"We are simultaneously raising our requirements as well," added Veego. "We have sent thirty-two Seekers to your compound, and each one shall retrieve one new challenger. They will all compete in a full tournament for supremacy. The winner will be sent back to Rubic City with enough gloid to nourish his entire family for two months…provided, of course, that some minimum levels of satisfaction are met in the Conclave."

"And with that," LaBerge cried joyfully, "let the Seekers make their choices!"

Mark and Courtney suddenly noticed that most everyone inside the pyramid was cringing and hunching over, almost as if they were trying to look as feeble and infirm as possible. What was going on?

A second later, they got a very unpleasant answer.

The men in the yellow uniforms were wading through the crowds, examining people, every so often stopping, forcing someone roughly to their feet, and feeling their muscle tone.

Then, one by one, each yellow guy selected a person, grabbed their arm, and thrust a narrow silver band all the way up to their biceps. The moment they were in place, the bands constricted and glowed purple. The people who were selected seemed to be a fairly even mixture of men and women.

Some of them allowed themselves to be led away with ashen expressions, others screamed and tried to run for it. None of them got far, though; they were shortly apprehended by security dados, and dragged out of the central chamber. A few moments later, the buzzing started up again, and faded away as the Seekers left for…somewhere else.

"What's happening?" Mark demanded, turning to the man who had talked to them earlier, but feeling as though he already had a good idea of what the answer would be.

"Start from the beginning," Press cut in. "Where do you come from? Why are you here? And what are Veego and LaBerge doing to your people?"

The man took a deep breath, and said "My name is Kellin Genj."

"The leader of the Tribunal of Ibara?" exclaimed Courtney.

"You've heard of me?" Genj said in confusion.

"Ummm…yes, I have," said Courtney lamely. She had in fact read all about Genj in Bobby's journals from Ibara.

"So you know of our existence as a secluded island civilization for centuries following the collapse of Lifelight," said Genj. "We endured many hardships. We sought to rebuild the world. But we have been driven from our homes by that despicable pair, Veego and LaBerge, and their Ravinian cult of supremacy. We have been forced into this makeshift compound, where we live a hand-to-mouth existence in the ruins of Rubic City. This alone would be plenty horrible enough, but Veego and LaBerge also use us as pawns for their entertainment."

"Where are they?" said Press. "Veego and LaBerge, I mean. Those screens broadcasting their speech didn't show places that look like any part of Ibara."

"That's because Veego and LaBerge are in Lifelight," said Genj. "They resurrected some of the jump technology and made improvements to the software. Their upgraded version of Lifelight allows them to send and receive messages from the real world while they are in their jumps."

"So those places in their background of their broadcast were…" Courtney began.

"Yes," said Genj. "They were their fantasies."

That made a lot of sense. Mark and Courtney knew that Veego wanted everything to be under her absolute control. LaBerge had a great liking for garish frivolity…and clowns. Their jumps seemed to be perfect reflections of their desires…yet the fact that they also liked to have a direct connection with reality was also unsurprising. They had once been phaders in Lifelight, and would therefore be wary of totally losing themselves in fantasy.

"Tell us about the Ibara Games," said Mark. "What are those all about?"

Genj's face clouded over with a fresh wave of anger. "Well, unlike us displaced Ibarans, the Ravinians aren't satisfied with living a simple life connected to nature. They demand constant entertainment. So Veego and LaBerge created the Games."

"Using all their experience from Quillan, of course," muttered Mark.

"What?" said Genj.

"Nothing," said Mark hastily. "Go on."

"They send special abduction agents known as 'Seekers' to the Horizon Compound, as you saw, and round up particularly healthy individuals, who are forced to compete as 'challengers' in the Games," said Genj. "Usually they get pitted against each other in deadly competitions, and the Ravinians are surveyed on how entertaining the Games were. If the challengers did a decent job, Veego and LaBerge leave us alone, or on very rare occasions might give us a reward. But if the Ravinians were dissatisfied, we get punished. They might dust our crops with poison, or tear a new hole in the side of the Lifelight pyramid to let in frigid breezes. A year ago, they were so displeased that they sent dados to assassinate my fellow Tribunal members, Moman and Drea. To say that Veego and LaBerge don't value us as human beings is an understatement. They've devoted their entire society to oppressing us."

Mark and Courtney couldn't speak. What Genj was saying left them too shaken to say anything. Here on Veelox, Ravinia had adopted a uniquely sinister strategy. They didn't merely treat non-Ravinians as slaves…they brutalized them for their own amusement.

But they didn't have long to brood upon this fact, because they were suddenly seized from behind. Security dados had stepped out of the darkness, grabbing Mark, Courtney, and Press. A Seeker emerged from a jump cubicle, looking triumphant.

"I take it you are the individuals the Game Masters have been seeking for so long," he said in triumph.

They looked around desperately, but could see no means of escape. Somehow, their arrival had anticipated…and they had walked directly into a trap.


	27. Veelox, Part 2

**~ VEELOX ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

Mark, Courtney, and Press struggled against the security dados, but it was no use. They had been caught by Veego and LaBerge's goons.

The question was, why?

They were dragged through the core, past all the dead jump screens, past the desk where the vedders had performed bio workups on new jumpers, down the pitch-black disinfection hallway, and through the doors out onto the streets of Rubic City. Surrounding them were stretches of cracked pavement, piles of trash, and the pitted hulks of crumbling skyscrapers. It was all exactly as Bobby had described in his Ibara journals…with one major difference. A large wall divided the street, maybe ten feet tall and a few feet thick, and snaked off through the streets on either side. They knew that this must be the boundary of the Horizon Compound. It was constructed entirely from junk—fragments of windowpanes, empty gloid packages, automobile parts, street signs and fallen power pylons. But they had all been fit together so tidily, like the pieces of a vast 3D puzzle, that the wall looked as sturdy as if it had been built from bricks or cement.

Another element that looked out of place was a sleek black flying machine that stood at the edge of the huge trash wall. The fuselage was shaped kind of like a double-rotor military chopper from Second Earth, with a round all-glass cockpit, but nothing else about this craft looked like anything Mark or Courtney had seen on any territory. The whole thing was tilted upwards at a twenty-degree angle, because the front undercarriage was much longer than the rear one. It had two pairs of wings protruding from halfway up the body, one near the cockpit and one halfway towards the end, and four sets of rotors. The first two rotors hung down from each of the front wings, suspended only about one or two feet off the ground. The second two were above the craft, sort of like a normal helicopter, but positioned on top of two long poles that came up from the back wings. Large triangular protrusions stuck off the back of the rotor poles, which looked as though they functioned as the rudders. There were three diamond-shaped windows on each side of the machine, and emblazoned below the second was a prominent red five-pointed star.

Mark, Courtney, and Press were frogmarched over to the back of the craft by the dados. A set of stairs extended from the very tip, leading inside. There were a few padded seats lining the walls between each window, and the three of them each sat in one. The security dados took up standing positions on either side of each of them. There was no getting away.

A few seconds later, the Seeker climbed the stairs and entered, looking very pleased with himself. "We're done here," he barked. "Take us back,"

The dado pilots curved around in their seats to look at him, then turned and began flipping switches. The four rotors buzzed to life. The craft shuddered and rose into the air, ascending higher and higher.

A monitor in the ceiling winked to life, revealing a guy who had to be the leader of the Seekers. He wore the same yellow and black uniform, but also wore a matching cap that seemed to signify a more important role. He had narrow, beady eyes and a bushy gray mustache.

"Captain Beelik, sir," said the Seeker who had Mark, Courtney, and Press. He stood up and gave a strange salute, raising his arms out in front of him with his elbows crooked at a ninety-degree angle, his fingers flat and pressed together.

"Status report?" replied the man on the screen in a gruff voice.

"I found them," he said proudly. "They were right there, in the Horizon Compound."

Captain Beelik's eyes widened. "You're positive it's them?"

"They certainly weren't Horizos or Flighters," said the Seeker. "They wore very strange clothing…stood out vividly in the crowd."

"I'll inform the Game Masters," said Captain Beelik. "If you are correct, I'm sure they'll be delighted." The transmission ended.

The craft had now reached its maximum altitude, and zoomed forward. It was much faster than an ordinary helicopter. They soared out over the glassy waters of the Veelox ocean, leaving the slanting towers of Rubic City far behind. Mark and Courtney glanced at Press, who was sitting tensely.

"I don't suppose you know what we're in for?" Courtney asked. Press simply shook his head, frowning.

It took a few hours before the island of Ibara came into view. It was a lush, tropical place covered in thick jungles and white-sand beaches. Mark and Courtney could clearly make out the wide bay that the village of Rayne was built along. But Rayne wasn't there. In its place was a complex that looked kind of like a bunch of fancy oceanfront hotels. This had to be where the Ravinians lived…and this was confirmed when the craft was close enough for them to make out the hundreds of star flags atop the buildings, fluttering in the breeze.

The Conclave of Ravinia looked like the perfect representation of what pops into people's heads when they think "resort". As they dropped down towards Ibara, Mark and Courtney could make out individual people sunning themselves, lying under palm trees or colorful beach umbrellas, splashing in the waves, even relaxing in artificial swimming pools.

But underneath all the tranquility and luxury were some seriously sinister reminders of what it all meant. First, of course, the omnipresent Ravinian flags made Mark and Courtney shudder. Second, the whole place was alive with dados. They may have been dressed in tuxedo-like uniforms, waiting on people and catering to their every whim, but they were also clearly there for security purposes. Each of them was armed with a golden gun. There was no way that anyone who didn't belong was getting in…or anyone who did belong getting out, either. The conclave may have looked like paradise, but it was no less a prison than the Horizon Compound.

And to top it all off, giant flat screens were erected all over the sides of the buildings. Clearly the conclave was organized so that nobody would ever miss a showing of the Ibara Games.

The craft descended lower, heading towards the rocky slope of Tribunal Mountain. And Mark and Courtney noticed something else. Built into the side of the mountain was a humongous palace of fluted spires. Scattered on several levels of the structure were things that looked like sporting arenas. This had to be where the Games were staged.

As they drew nearer to the palace, they saw a large hole tunneled into the mountain, just below a twisty racecourse. The craft slowed down as it approached the hole, lining up carefully to ensure a safe landing. Soon, it touched down in what turned out to be an underground chamber illuminated by glowing tubes in the walls. As the rotors slowed and died, the door in the rear opened up, and the dados shunted Mark, Courtney, and Press to their feet. They stepped out into the cave, and the Seeker directed them to an opening in the wall. They were led down several passages, up a few flights of stairs, and were at last taken into a dark, empty room that looked like a prison cell. The only thing in the chamber was a flat-screen TV built into the opposite wall. The dados left to stand outside the room, and the Seeker spoke into a handheld device about the size and dimensions of a bar of soap.

The next moment, the TV sprang to life, showing the faces of Veego and LaBerge, once again standing in the middle of their Lifelight fantasies. The Game Masters looked directly at their three captives in triumph.

"So," said Veego, "I take it that you are Mark and Courtney."

"How do you know them?" demanded Press.

"They are the intended recipients of Pendragon's journal number forty-one from the territory of First Edge, are they not?" Veego replied.

Mark nearly fell over. "You have the journal?" he cried in dismay.

"Rather interesting territory," said Veego with a cold smile.

"Positively delightful!" chipped in LaBerge with a toothy grin.

"Where did you get it?" Courtney shouted angrily.

"We found it in a jungle clearing full of trash," said Veego.

"The Jakills' old hideout," muttered Courtney.

"We knew Pendragon was expecting you to come to Veelox and collect his journal," said Veego. "So we thought we'd give you a proper welcome,"

"But what do you hope to gain by kidnapping us?" said Press.

"Ah, well," said LaBerge, "all we have to do is wait for Miss Winter to pay us a visit, and she'll tell Pendragon where you are. He won't be able to resist joining the party!"

He gave a hearty laugh…and Mark and Courtney joined in. They clutched each other and positively howled with laughter. They couldn't help themselves. Veego and LaBerge frowned in confusion.

"You find this funny?" said Veego.

"I've got some news for you two," said Mark, grinning. "You're way behind the times. Nevva is dead, and Pendragon's in a place where you can't faze him. And I'll tell you something else, too: Ravinia's days are numbered. Its leader was soundly defeated on Earth, and it's only a matter of time until Ravinia collapses here on Veelox, too."

Veego and LaBerge went rigid with shock. Not only was this news deeply unexpected, but the matter-of-fact way Mark had given it made it perfectly clear he wasn't lying.

Veego was the first to recover. "What does that matter?" she said. "Ravinia doesn't need its founder to survive."

"Oh, but it does," said Press. "Ravinia is working against a natural balance. Without Saint Dane at its center, continuously fighting the ordinary course of existence, the whole thing will fall apart. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but make no mistake, it will happen."

The two Game Masters seemed unsure of themselves. But Veego did not back down. "We will fight to the very end," she snarled. "We have been given the chance to rebuild Veelox. We will not let our efforts come to nothing."

"They already have," said Press simply.

"How dare you!" screamed LaBerge, stamping up and down like an eight-year-old. "You're just like Pendragon…always out to ruin our fun!"

"Be still!" barked Veego.

"If by 'fun', you mean 'destroying worlds for personal gain and profit'," said Mark, looking straight at the image of LaBerge, "then yeah, we are _definitely_ out to ruin your fun."

"Jerk!" LaBerge shrieked, now having a full-blown temper tantrum.

"I told you to shut up!" bellowed Veego. "Or I shall have the dado phaders terminate your jump and destroy your cubicle!"

LaBerge staggered backwards, reeling in shock from his sister's threat. Then, he sniffed, his eyes bloodshot, turned around, and dashed away from the screen, heading for his make-believe castle. The right side of the screen went black, and the left side expanded to fill it, so that only Veego's image was being broadcast.

Even if Veego was maintaining her composure, she was clearly just as rattled as LaBerge. "You're wrong," she said fiercely, sounding as though she wasn't quite sure of that. "The Ravinian philosophy is superior. Under its guidance, all of the worlds will be purged of…"

At that moment, Press seized Mark and Courtney's wrists and bolted for the exit. Nobody saw it coming. The escape could hardly have done a better job of catching their captors off guard. Even the security dados outside were too slow to react. A few seconds later, however, a grating horn rang through the tunnels. Behind them, Mark and Courtney could hear the dados in hot pursuit.

"What do we do?" Mark cried over the deafening alarm.

"Find Veego and LaBerge," replied Press. "Their physical bodies, up in the palace. I'll bet you anything that's where the journal is being kept. Then, it's straight to Quillan."


	28. Veelox, Part 3

**~ VEELOX ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

Down the stone corridors they raced, glancing this way and that, pausing for infinitesimal moments to check around corners for security dados. However, they knew they didn't have a chance of escape…at least, not without Press's powers.

They were hoping it wouldn't come to that. Every time Press transported, it leached some of the spirit energy from Solara. This wasn't such a dangerous move as it had been, now that positive energy was slowly pouring back into Halla, but it still killed Press to perform any physical manipulation of matter.

But all of a sudden, Mark, Courtney, and Press got the miracle they needed.

As the dados closed in behind them, they hurled themselves through a set of double doors…to find themselves stepping onto the twisty racecourse they had seen from the Seeker craft. The elevated raceway had grass planted along the sides, but the center was black asphalt. To their right, the racecourse stretched off into a tunnel full of ever-changing multicolored strobelight patterns. To their left, it banked and twisted, sometimes tilting at nearly ninety degrees.

This alone would not have been their salvation, given that the security dados were still in hot pursuit…but at that very moment, three large shapes came shooting out of the tunnel with the crazy lights. A game was underway!

The shapes turned out to be racing vehicles. They consisted of a single large wheel, a simple set of handlebars, and a turbo booster in the back. They were being driven by Challengers Red, Green, and Blue, each distinguishable by their colored uniforms. Their shirts looked exactly like Bobby's description of the challenger clothes from Quillan…long-sleeved, with a solid color and five diagonal black lines across the chest.

In a fraction of a second, Mark, Courtney, and Press all gazed at each other, and silently agreed on a spur-of-the-moment, desperate, extremely stupid plan. They dashed forward just as the three challengers rounded, leaped into the air…and landed squarely on the backs of each machine.

The three challengers yelled in shock and swerved wildly. Challenger Red careened towards the edge, but Courtney seized his handlebars and wrenched them to the right, bringing him back into the center of the road.

"Get us out of here!" screamed Mark, just as the security dados burst through the door and took aim with their golden guns.

_Fum! Fum!_

The energy pulses hit very close to Challenger Blue's vehicle, kicking up pieces of asphalt. One fragment pinged off of Press's forehead.

"Hold on tight!" roared Challenger Green, gritting her teeth and spurring her vehicle on. In those few seconds, the challengers had realized what was going on…and they were on the escapees' side.

Just moments ago, the challengers had been performing elaborate moves and turns, trying to pass each other. Now, they grouped together, riding side by side, and simultaneously shot forward. The dados were left in the dust.

"What is this game?" Courtney screamed, her arms wrapped tightly around Challenger Red's chest.

"It's called Vrumble," Challenger Red shouted back, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "We do three laps around this track, and each time we pass our checkpoint we grab a flag of our color. First one to get back to the start with all three flags is the winner."

"But Veego and LaBerge complicate things," yelled Challenger Blue over the roar of the wind. "Every time a flag is collected, it reveals two bombs. Your opponents can grab the bombs and use them however they see fit…whether to tear holes in the track, blind the challenger behind them, or blow the challenger in the lead to smithereens,"

Under any other circumstance, the idea of this gruesome game would have made Mark and Courtney cringe. But right now, it sounded like the perfect means to get away.

This track began to look more and more dangerous. They performed a leap through a ring of fire, wound their way through a field of jagged spikes, and went upside down in a vertical loop. But the challengers knew what they were doing, and they cleared every obstacle with room to spare. At one point, they passed by a stadium built into the mountain, which was full of cheering Ravinians. They didn't understand this bizarre turn of events, but they ate it up like it was all part of the show.

"We're about to pass my checkpoint!" bellowed Challenger Red, as the track leveled out and curved towards the side of the mountain. "Get behind me and grab the bombs! We might need 'em."

Challenger Green and Challenger Blue obeyed, forming a straight line. On the right side of the track was a silver device that was shaped kind of like those automatic ticket machines in parking lots. A small red flag stood on top.

In one deft movement, Challenger Red snatched up the flag. Instantly, there was a click, and a pair of innocent-looking red spheres slid into place, resting where the flag had been. The other two challengers each took one, then fell back into place beside Challenger Red, just as they all entered a pitch-black tunnel.

A few seconds later, they emerged into a wide cavern full of stalactites and glassy pools of water. The track rose and dipped, wound and weaved, but the challengers zoomed around effortlessly. Then…

"Dados!" screamed Mark.

Twenty or thirty security dados were charging onto the track, barring the way. Standing on the side of the road was Captain Beelik, his mustache bristling with agitation. "Stop them!" he roared. The dados raised their weapons.

_Fum! Fum! Fum!_

The challengers swerved this way and that to avoid the charges. Challenger Blue cried out in alarm as one of the shots missed him by inches.

"Hang on!" yelled Challenger Red.

The other two challengers wound up and lobbed the bombs at the mass of dados. There was a terrific bang and a blinding flash. Dado parts and chunks of asphalt flew in every direction. Captain Beelik dived for cover, looking terrified. The three challengers thrust their legs forward, and their vehicles leaped into the air, sailing through the cloud of dust and debris, coming out unharmed on the other side.

"We're gonna get you out of here!" said Challenger Green. "There are all kinds of exits leading off the Vrumble track. We know of one that'll take you down to the jungle; you can hide in there."

"No!" said Press sharply. "That won't do. Is there an exit that'll take us to Veego and LaBerge's room?"

"What?" shouted Challenger Blue. "Are you crazy?"

"We're not leaving Tribunal Mountain until we do what we came here to do," said Press.

"Which is what?" said Challenger Red eagerly. "Are you assassins?"

"No, we don't plan to kill Veego and LaBerge," said Press. "But believe me, our plans will be the worse for them."

"But then how are you going to escape?" protested Challenger Green.

"Don't worry about us. Just get us there," said Press. "You can, can't you?"

There was a pause, while the challengers cleared several small gaps in the road, above a pit of smelly green liquid. "Yes," said Challenger Red at last. "Yes, we can."

As they rounded the next corner of the Vrumble track, the walls changed from stone to metal. The track split into eight, each narrow slice dipping or rising to a different level and feeding into a twenty-foot-long circular tube. The tubes appeared to be generating air currents of random power. Clearly the challengers had to decide on the spur of the moment which wind tunnel to ride through and hope that it gave them the greatest possible burst of speed. This racecourse would have been thrilling if it wasn't so deadly.

The individual tracks were too narrow to ride three abreast, so the challengers split up, each taking a different one. Mark and Challenger Green came blasting out far ahead of the others, and had to slow up so they could regroup. They were now driving on a calm, gently curving stretch of road in a smooth cement tunnel.

"The best exit for your purposes is coming up on the right!" said Challenger Red. "See that door in the wall?"

"Yeah!" said Courtney.

All three challengers came to a screeching stop, cutting sharply left to kill their momentum. "When you go through that door, you'll be in a hallway," said Challenger Red quickly. "Run straight through it, past two intersecting corridors. At the third, turn right, and you'll see an elevator. Ride it straight to the top and you'll reach the upper levels of the palace. From there, just keep climbing the stairs and you'll find Veego and LaBerge. And hurry! The dados are on their way!"

Sure enough, the rumbling of engines could be heard from the other end of the tunnel. "Thank you so much!" said Mark, dismounting from Challenger Green's vehicle. "We owe you so much,"

"No you don't," she said at once. "You gave us the chance to fight Ravinia. We just ran with it. Good luck!"

Without looking back, Mark, Courtney, and Press wrenched open the door and dashed inside. They were in another narrow hallway lined with glowing tubes. The alarm was still screeching.

"Come on!" roared Press, and Mark and Courtney tore after him as he flew past the two intersecting passages and down the third. When the other two caught up, they found Press urgently slamming a button next to a set of silver grilles, which promptly slid apart to reveal a circular space within.

They all dashed into the elevator cab, just as footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, indicating the arrival of the dados. They were afraid that the dados might be able to stop the elevator and drag them out, but fortunately this didn't seem to be the case. The elevator lurched upwards.

The walls of the elevator were clear glass, allowing the three of them to see outside…although currently "outside" was merely the walls of a circular elevator shaft carved from rock. A few seconds later, however, they emerged from the side of Tribunal Mountain, and had a spectacular bird's-eye view of the Ibara jungle stretched out far below them.

"Look at that," said Mark sadly. "The only remaining beauty on Veelox. And it's all in the clutches of Ravinia."

"One day this world will be great again," said Press. "But for now, we must focus on our mission."

Once again, the scene through the glass walls changed. They were ascending past the supports of the palace, and they shot past a massive network of struts and girders.

Finally, they reached another set of grilles, which slid apart to reveal a massive, sumptuous chamber. Everywhere they looked, they saw soft carpets, luxurious furniture, elaborate tapestries and magnificent statues. There was a set of marble stairs ahead.

"Let's go!" Press said. Mark and Courtney hurried along in his wake as he dashed up the staircase, turned on a landing, and scurried up another flight. The place was massive, but Challenger Red's directions had made it obvious where to go. They just kept climbing the stairs, past floor after floor of opulent lounges. Once they saw a huge bay window that looked out over the entire conclave and the bay beyond. They didn't stop, spurred on by the renewed sounds of pursuing dados.

Finally, they ran out of stairs. Ahead of them stood a set of richly polished wooden doors emblazoned with a golden five-pointed star.

They shoved the doors open, expecting to see the most beautiful room of all. But apart from a single window looking out over Ibara, there was nothing in here except for a pair of desks…at which a couple of dados were busy inputting commands on keypads. Two monitors above the desks showed Veego and LaBerge. The dados took no notice of them, and neither did the Game Masters, although Veego was still shouting furious orders to the security dados chasing them. There was a small opening on the other side of the room, and Mark, Courtney, and Press tore inside.

They found themselves looking at a pair of jump cubicles, just like the ones in the Lifelight pyramid. They looked absurdly out of place in this empty, white-walled room. But there was something else in this room that looked even more out of place.

It was a bundle of barkscrolls lying on the floor.

"The journal!" screamed Mark, diving to pick it up. "We've got it!"

"Halt!" growled a flat, expressionless voice behind them.

They wheeled around to find a crowd of security dados flooding into the room, taking aim with their guns.

Mark and Courtney didn't wait to be told to seize Press's hands. They immediately grabbed the Traveler, ran forwards…

…and smacked hard into a grimy, tiled wall. Mark and Courtney were knocked backward and landed hard on their butts.

Dazed, the two of them gazed at their new surroundings. It was a giant warehouse stacked high with thousands upon thousands of dusty crates. Mark and Courtney recognized it as a flume gate location from Bobby's journals…though of course the flume was long gone.

"Quillan," said Courtney uneasily, staring around at the crates. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"With any luck, this'll be a short visit," said Press. "But right now, it's time to read more of the story from First Edge."


	29. Journal 41, Part 1: First Edge

JOURNAL #41

FIRST EDGE

I must have written this a million times before, but it's a miracle I'm still alive. Since I last wrote to you, things got real ugly, real fast, and my nerves are beyond rattled right now. I thought Undertown and Sanctaphrax were scary places…well, when you're talking about the Deepwoods, scary doesn't cover it.

But I don't know how much longer I'm gonna _stay_ alive, because the turning point for First Edge is imminent. I know what it is now, and I'm positively terrified. For the territory, obviously, but also for me and Twig and Cowlquape. Not only do I have no idea how we're gonna get the time to save the territory, but I have no idea how we're even gonna escape the territory when it all hits the fan.

The very instant I finish this journal, Twig and I are gonna try something very desperate and very stupid in our attempt to save First Edge. Odds are we'll kill ourselves in the process, but I don't see any other way. So just sit tight, read my adventures, and pray that there will be another journal.

Anyway, at the time I ended the last journal, I was readying myself to enter the Great Shryke Slave Market with Twig, Cowlquape, and Spooler. The truth was, I didn't get ready at all. There was no way I could have gotten ready for what lay in wait for us.

The first thing we did was raid the storeroom of the _Skyraider_ for some new gear. Vulpoon/Saint Dane had a whole bunch of state-of-the-art sky pirate clothes and equipment that seemed foolish to go without. Mine looked a lot like the gear Twig had found for me on the _Edgedancer_, but it was a bit newer and nicer. It somehow gave me confidence.

When we got back up on deck, it was illuminated by pinkish-purple light from the rising sun. But none of the oil lamps in the slave market beyond winked out. I guessed that it was constantly dark in there, day and night.

After some heartfelt goodbyes to the crew and the released slaves, we stepped out onto the gangplank and watched the _Skyraider_ rise up, turn, and head away into the horizon. Then, we turned and walked down the jetty, towards the Great Shryke Slave Market.

Gulp.

Up close, the market looked even more elaborate. The trees were spanned by more of these rickety, uneven bridges, and there were other structures too. I saw cabins with tiled roofs and fabric awnings which were built into the sides of trunks. I saw spherical thatched cages hanging everywhere which were full of objects for sale. Close too, the noise and smells bowled me over. Everything about this place made me want to turn around and run. But even if I was prepared to desert Twig and the others, there was nowhere to run. We were standing on a spindly jetty hundreds and hundreds of feet above the ground, with nowhere to go but forward.

Twig squinted, as though trying to hear something, and then turned to his newly found crewmember. "Spooler, do you really think you can guide us safely through this terrible place?"

"I shall do my best," Spooler said with a nod. "First of all, we must see about some white cockades. Come, let us go. And Sky protect us all."

Huh? What was a white cockade? I decided not to ask. If Spooler thought we needed some, then I would happily take an armload of them.

As we continued down the jetty, it wobbled insistently. I was right to think that it was unstable. From what I could see, it looked as if this market was constantly on the move, hastily relocating and setting up shop elsewhere…probably when they had stripped the surrounding forest of everything that could make a profit. On top of everything else, this place was an environmentalist's nightmare.

"The whole market is raised up," Spooler told us, as we reached the end of the jetty and pushed several branches aside. "Everything is fixed to, or suspended from, the great trees."

Twig gazed around, mouth agape. "It's stranger than I ever imagined it would be," he said in a low mutter. Yikes, not a good sign, if even Twig didn't know what he was doing. Thank goodness (or Sky) we had Spooler with us.

"And vast," Spooler added. "Searching for an individual in this lot…" his voice trailed off as he waved at the crowds of people making their way across the suspended walkways, which gave creaking groans as they took the extra weight. I noticed that most of them were wearing elaborate white flowers, prominently displayed somewhere on their bodies. A lot of them had pinned theirs to their chests, sort of like those fancy corsages guys are supposed to give to their dates at senior prom. Maybe this was some sort of Deepwoods fashion.

"We'll manage," Twig said confidently. "Somehow. Eh, Pendragon? Cowlquape?"

Twig suddenly stopped, and looked around in confusion. "Cowlquape? Where are you?"

"_Wuurgh!_" moaned a voice behind us.

"Cowlquape!"

Twig dashed back to his acolyte, who was frozen on all fours, trembling. At first I thought the sight of the market had been too much for him—perfectly understandable in its own right. But then I realized that it was the height and the swaying bridge.

To be honest, it was terrifying the hell out of me, too; this was worse than sliding down the crumbling Lifelight pyramid in Rubic City. One slip and bye-bye. But at least I had a bit of experience; Cowlquape had never done anything even remotely like this before. I wanted to come to his aid, but I was afraid that thinking about it too much would make me lose my nerve, and I'd end up in just as bad of shape.

"Crawl," Twig said firmly. "Grip the sides of the plank and crawl forwards."

"I can't," Cowlquape mumbled, gasping for breath, his eyes shut tight. "I just can't."

"You can!" said Twig loudly. "You can't stay here! Besides, if you fall, what would become of your precious barkscrolls?"

Cowlquape gave a shuddering groan, and then moved forwards on his knees.

"That's the way! Just a little bit further," cajoled Twig.

With shaking arms, Cowlquape gritted his teeth and dragged himself forward again. He moved a few more times. Twig reached out and pulled him forwards quickly, helping him get onto the neighboring walkway, which was slightly broader.

Opening his eyes, Cowlquape looked at Twig. "This is a fine place for me to discover about your head for heights, Cowlquape," Twig said in exasperation. "The whole market's strung up in the trees."

"Just give me a moment…" Cowlquape breathed, rising unsteadily back to his feet. "I'll be all right." He then came back over to us shakily. "It was just that gangplank. No sides." He shivered involuntarily. "Nothing to hold onto…"

Suddenly, we were distracted by a deafening, high-pitched series of squeals, and a bellowed stream of furious oaths. We all dashed to the other end of the walkway and gazed over the side.

Below us was a small stall with a red and white awning. A smoky, primitive stove was chained to the trunk supporting the stall, and beside it was a scrawny little goblin, hopping up and down in rage and shaking a huge fist at a plump creature that was scurrying through the branches towards the forest floor.

"Blast you to open sky for wriggling free like that!" shrieked the goblin. "You've ruined me! Ruined me, do you hear?"

"What is it?" Cowlquape asked Twig, pointing at the retreating animal.

"A woodhog, probably," Spooler replied, pointing back at the frenzied goblin. "There are hundreds of vendors like him all over the slave market, living from hand to mouth…"

Then, abruptly, the stall splintered under the strain of the goblin's furious stomps, and the floor gave way. Screaming, the goblin lunged out and clutched the nearest object…the surface of the stove. I could hear his fingers sizzling from here. Ouch.

The goblin endured the barbecuing of his digits for a few seconds, and then let go, bellowing in pain and terror. Down he fell, crashing through the branches, his limbs jerking in odd directions. It was horrible to watch.

"Sky above! What are _they_?" Cowlquape exclaimed, pointing at the ground below the falling goblin. A huge pack of fluffy orange creatures with beady yellow eyes was converging on the spot. They looked horribly familiar.

"Wig-wigs," said Twig and Spooler together.

"Terrible creatures," shuddered Twig. "They hunt in packs and devour their victims, dead or alive."

"Here, they don't even need to hunt," added Spooler. "They live well enough off the discarded waste from the slave market…" His voice was punctuated by a hideous ripping and tearing noise. The goblin had fallen right into the pack of animals, and was lost from sight. "And anything else that drops down. Accidentally or otherwise."

"And when they've finished, there's nothing left," Twig finished. "Not a scrap of fur or a splinter of bone."

"They…" Cowlquape paused, his eyes wide, "they can't climb trees, though, can they?"

"No. No, they can't," said Twig with a shake of his head.

While Spooler continued to stare down at the wig-wigs, the three of us huddled up. "You said wig-wigs are the form taken by the quigs on First Edge, didn't you, Pendragon?" Twig muttered.

I nodded.

"I thought you said quigs just patrol the flumes. How can wig-wigs exist in the Deepwoods?"

"Quigs _usually_ just patrol the flumes, but Saint Dane can actually put them anywhere he wants. On Denduron, there were quigs kept in pens underneath the Bedoowan castle, where they were used to stage gruesome fights for Queen Kagan's amusement."

"What does it mean?" Cowlquape asked apprehensively.

"I'm not sure, but I think it means we're in the right place," I muttered. "Quigs don't just turn up randomly. It's probably a safe bet that coming to the Great Shryke Slave Market was exactly what we're supposed to do."

"Come," Spooler said, beckoning to the three of us. "We must find a tally-hen and buy our white cockades at once." He indicated the white flower things the people in the slave market were wearing. "Without them we could be seized by a slave-trader and put on sale at any moment."

Oh, _man_! The flowers were safety passes! That explained a lot. Suddenly I was _much_ more interested in following the local fashion trends.

Spooler's gaze shifted around. "I heard that there's usually one near the end of each landing-stage," he muttered. "Yes, look." He indicated one of those high-roofed huts I had seen as we came in to land. "There's a tally-lodge."

"What are we waiting for then?" said Twig, and set off towards the hut in long strides. We all scampered after him, Cowlquape no longer appearing too concerned about his fear of heights.

Close to, we saw that the hut was engineered far more meticulously than most of the structures in the slave market. It seemed aerodynamic and lightweight—presumably it had to withstand the wind better than most of the buildings, since it was right on the edge of the market. A golden plaque above the door was illuminated by an oil lantern. It read, "_Tally-Hen Mossfeather_."

Twig rapped on the door, and instantly a shrill, screechy voice said, "Enter."

Spooler grabbed Twig's arm, preventing him from raising the latch on the door. "Be sure to wait for her to speak first," hissed Spooler urgently. "It is the way here."

Having Spooler with us was looking like a better idea every second.

We all entered the hut. It consisted of a small, smoky room lined with oil lamps. My eyes and throat started burning unpleasantly. There was a swarthy-looking shryke behind a desk with dull greenish feathers and white talons. She did not turn to look at us, merely continuing to shift around brightly-colored disks on a numbered board.

Twig approached the desk, but did not speak. He waited for Tally-Hen Mossfeather to acknowledge us.

"Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, plus time-penalties," Tally-Hen Mossfeather clucked quietly, making a few final adjustments to the board. Then, she suddenly snapped, "Can't you see I'm busy?" making us all jump back a little. Not exactly a warm welcome…but the shryke had now spoken. By the unwritten rules of the market, it seemed that Twig now had permission to address her.

"We wish to by white cockades," Twig said, betraying no sign of fear or unease.

Tally-Hen Mossfeather paused, and then turned quickly to face us, her swarthy features showing signs of interest. "_Buy_, did you say?" she inquired, staring at Twig with creepy, unblinking eyes. "Not beg, borrow or barter?" she leaned forward. "And what do you intend buying them with? We don't take tokens or vouchers. It's two gold pieces per person."

Without missing a beat, Twig fumbled in his jacket and pulled out the Professor of Darkness's pouch. He extracted eight gold coins and handed them to the shryke. Tally-Hen Mossfeather glared at him suspiciously, then snatched up one of the coins and bit into it with her vicious curved beak.

At last, she seemed satisfied. She looked back up at Twig. "Four cockades, you say?"

"One for each of us," nodded Twig.

With a grumpy nod, Tally-Hen Mossfeather turned to a locked door in the rear wall of the hut. She opened the door to reveal a hollowed-out space in the tree trunk that served as a kind of safe full of wooden boxes. Tally-Hen Mossfeather extracted one, opened it, and pulled out four of the white flowers, which she handed to Twig.

"Here," said the shryke, as Twig gave one each to me, Cowlquape, and Spooler. "The cockades ensure free right of passage for three days and three nights. After that, the material rots away. If you are caught without cockades you will be seized and sold as slaves."

"Three days in this place will be more than enough," Twig replied confidently.

"That's what they all say," snorted Tally-Hen Mossfeather contemptuously. "But I'm warning you, the days and nights bleed into one another in the Great Shryke Slave Market. Our visitors are always complaining about the uncommon haste with which time passes…"

"Which is why we must thank you and bid you farewell," Twig interrupted her. "We have much to do." We all left the tally-hut, and the door slammed behind us.

"Surly creature," muttered Cowlquape.

"Shrykes aren't exactly known for their graciousness," said Spooler darkly. "Yet those who are made tally-hens generally act with more integrity than most." He gazed around at us, frowning seriously. "Attach your cockade to the front of your jacket where you can keep an eye on it. The slave market is full of light-fingered individuals, and hats with cockades upon them have a horrible habit of going missing."

No problem. I wasn't about to lose this thing, no way. I fastened it to the front of my jacket, and Twig, Cowlquape, and Spooler did the same. We then followed Spooler as he turned and led us deeper into the market.

"And keep close," Spooler commanded us urgently, as our path took us past several more shabby kiosks and crisscrossed walkways above and below. "Even as cockaded free citizens you risk being picked off by some unscrupulous merchant who would lock you away till the cockade rots and then claim you as his—or her—own."

Yikes. Note to self: stay within five feet of the others.

Twig looked revolted. "Is there no honor at all amongst slave-traders?"

"You can't buy and sell honor, captain," said Spooler with a bitter smile. "And money is the only thing that matters here."

Twig was starting to look worried, and I thought I knew what was going through his mind. If a crewmember was indeed here, the odds that they weren't already dead or enslaved were looking pretty low.

"There is an auction in the slave market," Spooler continued. "The Grand Central Auction. I thought we might try there first."

"Come on, then," Twig agreed with a weary nod. "But let's keep ourselves to ourselves—and our eyes and ears open."


	30. Journal 41, Part 2: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Spooler wasn't kidding. This place was stupid-big.

It was like a colossal, three-dimensional maze. I didn't think it would be possible to get from one end to the other after even a full day of walking. And there was no way to keep track of time either, because our surroundings were always pitch-black, illuminated only by the yellow-orange glow from the lamps and torches. We traversed walkways on every level, sometimes so low to the ground that the yips and squeals of the quigs drowned out everything else, sometimes so high up that our heads constantly brushed against the leaves of the upper Deepwoods canopy. The levels were all connected by flimsy rope ladders. I was used to climbing up and down these kinds of structures, but Cowlquape was terrified of them and often needed Twig's help.

The energy of the place was incredible and unnerving. The air seemed almost to pulse with it. Everywhere, there were people strolling along and browsing at the stalls, barks and growls of trapped animals and the pleading of poor souls trapped in cages. I could sense that we were being watched by hundreds of eyes every second. I started to wish that I had brought a third Traveler with me on this quest…Loor came to mind more than once. I felt pretty sure that her warrior vibes would have gotten more people to back off.

We continued down a walkway lined with trestle tables. Vendors were bellowing out their wares and their prices. Some of this merchandise was almost too bizarre to imagine. One stand, run by a female lugtroll, was piled high with glowing jewelry.

Cowlquape's eyes widened, and he pointed at the lugtroll's wares. "Look. It's _alive_!"

Twig and I looked a little more closely and saw that, sure enough, the jewelry was made from glowing insects, all secured in place by twisting filaments of wire.

Spooler glanced around apprehensively. "Best get out of here before she decides to use us four!" he said, indicating our glowing bodies. We hastily heeded his advice and beat feet down the path.

The next part of the market was filled with cages of all kinds, containing countless types of bizarre animals. Some of the trees were hollowed out and fitted with bars, apparently to imprison much larger beasts. At last, we came to a stop near a food stall, not unlike the one run by the unfortunate goblin we had seen fall into the jaws of the quigs. Twig bought us each a plump cut of steak and a hunk of strange-looking bread. Realizing only then that I was completely starved, I tore into my meal with ravenous enthusiasm. We didn't stop to enjoy it though; instead, we kept on walking, eating as we went.

"Something to satisfy your thirst, too?" said a voice behind us.

We stopped and turned to see a squat, warty creature with long, droopy pink ears and giant, pale-green eyeballs attached to the ends of long, swaying eyestalks. I had seen these dudes before in Undertown…Twig had called them "gabtrolls". But I never got used to how bizarre they looked. She was stirring a bubbly pot, and her eyes were swiveling independently of one another, looking at each of us in turn. Every so often, she extended a long, rubbery tongue and moistened one of her eyeballs with a slurping noise. It was pretty gross.

"I've the finest herbal teas in the whole of the slave market," the gabtroll said, as her eyestalks continued to sway. "You," she said suddenly, both of her eyes zeroing in on Cowlquape, who looked a little nervous, "for you, I would recommend an infusion of hairy charlock and oakapple. It emboldens the timid of heart. And is excellent for vertigo," she added. "For you," she continued, now directing her gaze at Spooler, "wood-comphrey, I think. It's a general pick-me-up." With another slurp, she turned to me. "I'd say you could use extract of nightkale and goldbeech leaf. Particularly soothing for souls who live in general anxiety. And…" she now focused on Twig, "you certainly look as though you could do with one."

"What?" Twig said, looking surprised. "Do you not know what _I_ should drink?"

"Oh, I know all right," replied the gabtroll in a gentle voice, her eyes fixed on his without swaying in the slightest. "Bristleweed."

"Bristleweed," Twig echoed, looking skeptical. "Sounds delicious," he said, looking over his shoulder at us, snorting with laughter.

"Its name sounds common enough, I'll grant you," chided the gabtroll, her eyes retracting back into her skull. "Yet bristleweed is one of the rarest herbs in all the Deepwoods." She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially. "It grows in purple clumps among the skulls and bones at the base of the flesh-eating bloodoak tree. Harvesting it is a nightmare, as I'm sure you can imagine."

Yow. Not pleasant.

"You are a seeker, a searcher," the gabtroll plowed on. "Looking for others…"

"Perhaps," Twig admitted.

I didn't like how much inside information this gabtroll seemed to have. Might she be Saint Dane? Could he have yet made his escape from the shrykes we had sold him too? I scanned the gabtroll's bouncing eyeballs for a trace of piercing blue. I saw none—her eyes were a dull hazel—but that didn't necessarily mean she was off the hook.

"Yet there is someone else you do not realize that you seek," the gabtroll was saying to Twig. "And bristleweed will help you."

"It will?" Twig replied.

The gabtroll nodded, threw a spoonful of purple powder into the wooden mug she held, filled it with water, and stirred it all up. "Here. Take it," she said, pressing the mug into Twig's hands. "Don't expect immediate results, but in time it will help you find the one you are looking for." She let the words hang in the air for a second. "Yourself."

"Find myself?" Twig repeated, sounding a little disappointed. "But _I'm_ not lost."

"Are you sure?" she said quietly, as she prepared the rest of our drinks. "Is there not _something_ missing?"

After we purchased the drinks, we set off. My beverage kind of tasted like warm salt water with a touch of mint. I didn't hate it, but neither did I think I'd be ordering one at the local Starbucks anytime soon.

Cowlquape was walking beside me. He looked down at his drink, and then muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth, "Do you think that was Saint Dane?"

Man, I was relieved to hear him say that. Even if Twig hadn't yet fully grasped the depths of Saint Dane's evil, at least Cowlquape seemed to be taking the demon a bit more seriously.

"That did occur to me," I admitted in a quiet whisper. "But why would he escape the shrykes and find us in the market just to sell us a few drinks?"

"They might be poisoned," Cowlquape replied at once, sounding worried.

"Saint Dane wouldn't do that," I assured him. "He wants the Travelers to fail, but he's not gonna kill us. Remember, he's trying to prove his philosophy is superior to ours; how's he gonna do that by murdering us? No, we're overthinking this. She's probably just what she looked like—a mystical herbalist peddling her wares."

"But she seemed to know so much about us."

"That's not necessarily a red flag. We have professional psychics on Second Earth that act just like her. They're usually just phonies who maintain the illusion by taking visual cues, asking really broad questions, and wearing funny costumes."

Cowlquape chuckled, and breathed a sigh of relief, seeming reassured. He took a few cautious sips of his drink, and seemed to like it.

"So how's that timid heart of yours, Cowlquape?" laughed Twig a little while later, as we crossed another bridge spanning two trees.

"Believe it or not, Twig," Cowlquape said with a grin, "I reckon the tea must have helped. My fear of heights isn't nearly so bad as it was."

"And you Spooler?"

"Never felt better, Captain," beamed the oakelf.

"My nerves are less rattled, too," I added. "That gabtroll really knows her stuff."

"And what about you?" Cowlquape asked Twig. "Has the bristleweed tea helped you to find yourself?"

"Not yet, Cowlquape. Not yet…"

This part of the market was a lot rowdier. The previous sections had been relatively innocent-looking, with vendors selling food and pets and jewelry and things like that. But now we started seeing a lot more actual slaves. Individuals from all manner of First Edge tribes and races were penned up in cages, bruised, starved, and weak. From all sides, I heard wails, groans, cries, roars, and whip cracks. Actually, the _lucky_ ones were getting whipped…there were also spears and flails and swords and all kinds of other weapons being used to keep the slaves in line. It was more barbaric and dehumanizing than I could have possibly imagined. Compared to this, the southern plantation slaves in early America were like unionized workers with good dental plans.

There were a lot more shrykes here, too. There were all kinds of variations in the appearance of the ferocious bird-creatures. Some of them were tremendous and muscular, taking up the whole width of walkways. Others were small and drab, chained up and looking like slaves themselves—I quickly realized that these were the males. In addition to the guards and the tally-hens, I saw a few gaudily-dressed shrykes with elaborate plumage and terrifying weaponry, strutting around and looking very pleased with themselves. "Roost-sisters," Spooler muttered to me as he saw me looking at one who was striding down a path that intersected our own. "They're the major players in the market—they only answer to Mother Muleclaw herself. They're the most vicious ones here. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with one."

I immediately stopped gaping at her foppish costume and started down at the wooden planks of the walkway.

"This whole accursed place should be razed to the ground," Twig snarled. "Wiped out. Burned down."

"I daresay it will be, one day," Cowlquape replied somberly. "But not before those beyond the slave market decide they have no more need for pets and servants and bound workers. In the Deepwoods. In Undertown. Yes, and in Sanctaphrax, too."

Twig slowly turned to look at his acolyte. "Cowlquape," he said in surprise, "are you saying that it is in some way _our_ fault that this place exists?"

"Perhaps," Cowlquape said with a shrug. "We demand, they supply. And as Kobold the Wise said…"

"Mind your backs!" screeched several voices ahead of us. "Make way! Make way!"

Three pairs of shrykes were scurrying down a walkway running parallel to ours, each dragging a terrified-looking individual. The three prisoners were cowering as the shrykes smacked them repeatedly with clubs and flails, begging for mercy.

"We didn't notice!" howled one, eyes popping in terror.

"We can explain!" begged another, trying to shield his face against a fresh volley of blows.

"What's happening?" Cowlquape gasped, looking at spooler. "What have they done wrong?"

Spooler grimly gestured at them. "No cockades, see? They've rotted away. And now they're about to pay the penalty."

Oh, right. Their cockades. I felt my steak churning around in my stomach.

"I wouldn't like to be in their shoes," shuddered Twig.

"Neither would I," Cowlquape agreed, touching his cockade. I did too, and was relieved to discover it was still pretty fresh. "I do wish we'd hurry up and find that wretched auction place," added Cowlquape.

"Me, too, Cowlquape. Me, too," Twig agreed.

I suddenly became aware of an overpowering, disgusting smell. This part of the market seemed to be full of rare, bizarre creatures. I hadn't seen creatures this strange since that two-headed zhou monster on Zadaa. There were odd furry things with giant ears and probing snouts that looked like elephant trunks. There were leathery black creatures with bulbous heads and gnarled mouthparts dripping green fluid. I saw a huge, hideous toad belching an evil-smelling odor. I was ready to ralph, and Cowlquape seemed to agree.

"It…it's disgusting here," he gasped through the hands he had clamped over his mouth.

"Yet no less popular for that," Twig observed, gesturing at the throngs of eager hagglers shouting offers and shoving each other. "Come on. Let's find that auction once and for all. I don't want to stay in this vile, parasitic place a moment longer than we have to."

It took another hour of searching before we finally found the place. A massive, terraced platform was built on top of a particularly monstrous tree that had its upper section chopped off. Situated on the platform was a long building with no windows. Crowds of people were streaming in and out, and many among the departing crowd were pulling ragged-looking individuals along on chains.

Inside, we found a throng of frenzied buyers packed shoulder to shoulder. The room was lit by glass balls which hung from the ceiling in regular clusters, each filled with the same kind of glowing insects that we had seen twisted up in the lugtroll's jewelry—and I was relieved to discover that this light dulled our own glow. At the far end were a raised stage and a lectern, from which a tall, thin, pinkish-purple shryke auctioneer was coolly calling out the current bid.

"Twenty-five? Do I hear twenty-five? I'm asking twenty-five for this trio of flat-head goblins. At the peak of their physical condition, they are. Ideal bodyguards or mercenaries. Twenty-five? Thank you. Thirty? Do I hear thirty?"

I realized with a pang that these were the same three individuals who had been caught without cockades not too long ago. They were chained together, looking miserable, as four tall shryke guards stood over them with flails. The thought that just a couple of hours ago these goblins had been free citizens made my stomach twist. Your situation could change on a dime here. I felt my cockade again nervously. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed a shade less stiff than it had been.

"Forty? Do I hear forty?" The auctioneer nodded at a raised hand. "Forty-five?" Sitting below her, a tally-hen with dark gray plumage was scribbling each revised bid on a clipboard.

"Recognize anyone?" Cowlquape said, nudging Twig and pointing at a crowd of slaves just visible through a shadowy opening behind the stage.

"No," Twig replied in disappointment. "No one."

"Going once," shrieked the auctioneer. "Going twice…Sold!" The sharp bang of her gavel rang throughout the hall. "Sold to the flat-head with the crimson jerkin."

Twig gave a snort beside me. "Come," he turned back to the three of us. "It was worth a try, but we're clearly wasting our time here. Let's go."

I was not at all sorry to depart. I was just about to tell Twig that perhaps we should get out of the Great Shryke Slave Market before anything terrible happened, when all of a sudden we heard something that made Twig and I stop dead.

"Lot Nine," yelled the auctioneer. "A waterwaif."

Twig and I looked at each other for a brief second, and I knew we were both wondering if we dared hope. Twig gazed back at the stage, and nudged me and Spooler, pointing out a small, scaly, green creature being dragged onstage.

"I thought we were going," Cowlquape said, tugging on Twig's shoulder.

"Wait," Twig said, gazing intently at the waterwaif, and catching Spooler's eye a few times. "Well?"

"I…I'm not sure," replied Spooler, sounding excited nevertheless. "It _could_ be…"

"Could be what?" said Cowlquape, bewildered.

"Not what, but _who_," replied Twig. "It could be Woodfish."

"From your crew?"

Twig gave a hasty nod.

My thoughts precisely. Perhaps we had arrived at the Grand Central Auction just in the nick of time.

"Ten!" shouted the auctioneer. "Who'll offer me ten?"

Twig put his hand up. The auctioneer gazed at him quickly, and the tally-hen scribbled.

"Fifteen," she announced. "Do I hear fifteen?"

"Fifteen," a voice growled. I didn't like the sound of it at all—whoever the voice belonged to definitely didn't sound like it belonged to the kind of guy you'd want to be in bondage to.

"Twenty?" called the auctioneer.

Twig and I both turned to look at the one who had bid fifteen. My bad feeling intensified. It was a particularly evil-looking Undertown leaguesman with a thick leather coat and a bulky metal eye-patch. The look he was giving the waterwaif on the stage was a look no person should ever give another sentient being—a terrifying, greedy leer. Suddenly I didn't care whether the waterwaif was actually Woodfish or not, just as long as this leaguesman didn't get him. Judging from the look on Twig's face, he felt the same way.

The leaguesman raised his hand again, and the auctioneer nodded. "Twenty-five? Do I hear twenty-five?"

Twig turned again, and he and the leaguesman made eye contact. The leaguesman's one good eye narrowed aggressively. "Twenty-five!" he roared.

"Thirty!" yelled Twig.

"Thirty-five!"

"Fifty!"

The leaguesman froze for a second, and then grinned unpleasantly at Twig, the insect light making his uneven gold teeth gleam. "S'all yours."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Twig had outbid the leaguesman. The waterwaif was ours—or rather, ours to free from the fate of slavery. The question was, did we actually find Woodfish?

"Sold to the individual in the hammelhornskin waistcoat for fifty," proclaimed the auctioneer, banging the hammer again. "Come forward to pay the tally-hen and Lot Number Nine is yours."

Twig made his way through the crowd, while the three of us watched. We were all wondering the same thing. Twig arrived on the stage, and pulled out his money pouch. As he counted out the money, he muttered something to the tally-hen, who responded with an astonished shriek.

"You want to do _what_?" screeched the tally-hen, seemingly unable to believe what she had just heard. "You want to buy it a cockade?"

Cowlquape looked thrilled. Evidently this was confirmation enough for him that the waterwaif was Woodfish. But I wasn't so sure. After all, even if it wasn't Woodfish, Twig could hardly just leave the poor waterwaif stranded in the market…he'd need a cockade no matter what.

Still, I hadn't yet seen anything to the contrary, so I remained hopeful. The three of us moved forward, the better to hear what Twig was saying.

"I think you'll find the amount correct," he told the tally-hen, giving her a small pile of gold. "Fifty for the purchase and an extra two for a white cockade."

The tally-hen glanced in confusion at the auctioneer, who clicked her beak disdainfully. "If he wants to waste his money on fine gestures…"

Shrugging, the tally-hen dumped the money into the revenue chest, and withdrew a white cockade from her pocket. "Here."

"For you, fellow free-citizen," Twig said kindly to the waterwaif, handing him the cockade.

"Th…thank you," said the waterwaif in total confusion, pinning the cockade to his cloak.

"Even though you are not the one I hope you would be," Twig added softly.

Cowlquape gave a gasp. I lowered my head in disappointment. So it wasn't Woodfish. What a pity. But at least we had managed to save this poor soul from a horrific fate.

The waterwaif closed his eyes, frowning, his giant ears fluttering gently. "Oh, I see," he murmured quietly. "You thought I was your missing crew-member, Woodfish. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"It's not your fault," Twig shrugged, smiling. He shook hands with the waterwaif.

"Lot Number Ten!" screeched the auctioneer, drowning out the impatient yells and swearing of the crowd of buyers. "Will those involved in the previous sale kindly leave the stage?" she snapped testily.

Cowlquape, Spooler, and I rushed forward and assisted the waterwaif, pulling him down off the stage. Twig leaped down himself, and we made our way back through the crowd.

"Anyway," Twig continued, after we had made it to the other side and stood in front of the exit to the Grand Central Auction, "I'm glad to have been of help. Live long and fare well."

With that, Twig turned away.

Towards the snarling face of the leaguesman.

"What do you think you're playing at?" he hissed in a deadly voice.

"Playing at?" Twig repeated nervously.

"You heard me," snarled the leaguesman, grabbing Twig by the shoulder and pulling him in, so that they were nose to nose. "Do you realize how long I've been searching for a waterwaif?"

We had definitely saved that waterwaif's butt. I could only imagine what this dude had been planning to do with him, and I would just as soon not know. But it could not be clearer that he had been desperate to have him, and we had seriously pissed him off by thwarting his plans.

"Thirty-six cockades worth!" the leaguesman bellowed. "Thirty-six dumping cockades worth!"

So he had been searching in the Great Shryke Slave Market for…a hundred and eight days. Yow. Make that _really_ desperate.

"This was the first I'd found," screamed the leaguesman, "And then you come along!"

He shoved Twig backwards, and he landed hard on the ground. The leaguesman then drew a bloodstained, serrated dagger and brought it swooshing down through the air.

I leaped forward to help Twig…but the waterwaif got there first. With a strangled cry, the little creature sailed between Twig and the leaguesman, and took the knife directly in the chest.

For a moment, the waterwaif hung suspended, skewered on the dagger. Then, the leaguesman dropped his weapon in surprise, and the waterwaif fell back onto the platform. A dark stain was spreading out from the point where the knife was buried in his flesh, but his expression was oddly calm and peaceful. He did not appear to register any pain.

In a fury, Twig leapt back to his feet and unsheathed his sword, but he wasn't quick enough. No sooner had he stepped forward than six tawny shryke guards arrived on the scene, swatting him away and grabbing the leaguesman with shrieks of rage, ripping the white cockade from his lapel. The leaguesman had just murdered another individual's purchase in a public space…and he was about to pay for it.

"It was him!" roared the leaguesman, struggling against the shrykes' claws and gesturing frantically at Twig. "Let me go!"

"Oh, we'll let you go, all right!" cackled one of the guards screechily. "We'll let you go under the auctioneer's hammer."

"No, not a slave," screamed the leaguesman in terror, thrashing furiously. "You can't sell me as a slave. Do you not realize who I am…?" The shrykes' scornful shrieks of laughter drowned out the leaguesman's pleas for mercy as they dragged him off, disappearing into a side passage.

I couldn't help giving a satisfied smile. As much as I despised the shrykes, I felt that justice had been served. But my grin vanished immediately as I remembered the poor waterwaif which had just paid the ultimate sacrifice to save Twig's life.

Twig was kneeling down and cradling the mortally wounded waterwaif in his arms. At first, I didn't understand why the waterwaif looked so peaceful. But then, it hit me. Twig was using his Traveler powers for the first time, using them to drain out all the anguish and agony the waterwaif would have otherwise felt in his last moments.

"I'm so sorry," Twig whispered, his eyes watering. "Ending up a slave would have been better than…than this."

"No," whispered the waterwaif feebly, his ears twitching. "Nothing is worse than that. You saved my life, and I am happy I was able to save yours…" the waif convulsed in pain, but Twig's unblinking gaze seemed to fill the dying creature with comfort once more. "And there is one last service I can do for you…" he continued weakly.

Twig bent closer to hear the waterwaif. I moved in a little more as well.

"You are looking for the missing crew of the _Edgedancer_," murmured the waterwaif in a hoarse voice. "I read it in your thoughts."

"Yes," Twig muttered.

The waterwaif reached up and feebly clutched at Twig's arm. "One of those you remember in your thoughts, well…I have seen him here…in the market."

"You have?" Twig cried, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Who is it? And where can I find him?"

"He…he…" gurgled the waterwaif weakly. A trickle of blood spilled down from the corner of his mouth. Twig gingerly raised him a little higher, turning his ear towards his mouth. "The Wig-Wig…Arena,"

Then, the waterwaif whimpered in pain, twitched, and fell backward, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

Shaking and tearful, Twig gently laid down the dead waterwaif and pushed his eyelids shut. I realized that I was crying too. The three of us crouched beside Twig, gazing at the body of the waterwaif.

"It wasn't your fault," Cowlquape said quietly.

"Yet he's dead, for all that," muttered Twig, sighing heavily. "What should we do with the body?"

"The shrykes will take care of it," answered Spooler. "Come, captain. There's nothing more you can—or may—do here."

We all turned and left the Grand Central Auction. As we crossed a hanging walkway, Cowlquape and I turned. We saw six more shryke guards hoisting up the body and dashing away.

My mind was reeling. I had seen evil on many territories, but this…it just seemed such a careless display of violence and cruelty. No one would think twice about the little waterwaif's death. It was probably quite a commonplace event in the Great Shryke Slave Market. How could this kind of horrible place exist?

For the first time, I actually understood how Saint Dane felt. His plans for Halla may have been terrible beyond imagining. He may have delighted in preying on people's worst instincts in a way that no righteous person ever could. He may have had no faith in the people of the territories to ever make the right decisions. And yet, beneath it all, he wanted to put an end to places like the Great Shryke Slave Market.

But this didn't make me feel any sympathy for the demon. On the contrary, it toughened my resolve to beat him. Saint Dane had learned all the wrong lessons from observing the worst in humanity. He was blinded to all the goodness Halla had to offer, and to the fact that such goodness inevitably blossoms from the natural destiny of the territories. He had allowed himself to become a reflection of the very thing he hated, and to be motivated increasingly by a lust for power.

With great effort, I brought myself back to reality, where Twig was now talking to Spooler.

"The Wig-Wig Arena," he said. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

A sudden look of apprehension and fear came over Spooler's face, and his giant dark eyes widened. "Oh, yes, captain. It certainly does," he said in a shaky voice. "I know all about the Wig-Wig Arena." He gave a little shudder. "I only wish I didn't."


	31. Journal 41, Part 3: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Nothing about the name "Wig-Wig Arena" made me want anything to do with it. It was clear that Saint Dane had his hand in the place. But it was also clear that that was our next destination.

As if we needed anything else to worry about, Cowlquape suddenly stammered, "Twig. It's started."

"What's started?" said Twig, frowning.

"My cockade," Cowlquape groaned, gesturing at the white rosette. "The material is starting to wilt."

"Are you sure?" Twig said. "It looks all right to me."

"Look!" Cowlquape demanded insistently, shaking his head. "It's gone all limp at the edges."

I felt my own cockade yet again, and noticed that mine too felt a little ragged and worn. This wasn't good.

"I can't believe we've been here long enough for that to happen," Cowlquape cried.

"That tally-hen did warn us to keep track of time," Twig pointed out.

"Yes, but three days!" shouted Cowlquape. "We can't possibly have been here for three days. It's all a con, a trick to enslave more unsuspecting free citizens…"

I wasn't sure Cowlquape was correct—we might indeed have just lost track of how long we were here—but it didn't matter much. Either way, we were running out of time. We could always buy more cockades, but the very idea of staying in the Great Shryke Slave Market for another three days made my knees go weak. Besides, there was no guarantee we could even find another tally-hen in this colossal labyrinth of walkways. No, it was looking like our best option was to check out this new lead and get out as soon as possible…which, unfortunately, seemed to mean going to the Wig-Wig Arena.

"Cowlquape, calm down," Twig was saying sternly. "It hasn't rotted away yet. And anyway, what's done is done. We must look forwards." He spun around to face the oakelf again. "Time's running short. This Wig-Wig Arena. Can you take us there?"

Spooler nodded grimly, gazing around at the crowds of people walking through the market. "By reading the signs in the market crowds, I can," he said slowly. "Look over there at those merchants," he continued, pointing out a couple of individuals strolling along a walkway above ours. "See the greed in their faces? Follow them and they'll lead us back to the Grand Central Auction. Whereas over there," he pointed in a different direction, "those gnokgoblins. See the way they stop, look around, then go on a few steps? They're browsers. They'll lead us to the livestock-traders and trinket-sellers."

"Yes, yes," Twig cut across him, a bite of impatience in his voice. "But what about the Arena? How do we know who to follow there?"

"Bloodlust," Spooler replied simply. "Look for bloodlust in the faces of the crowd." After a few more moments of gazing around, Spooler pointed at a diverse crowd of goblins. "There! That looks a likely group. Look at the purpose in their stride. The violence in their gestures. The glint in their eyes." He sniffed and gave a nervous twitch. "I can _smell_ their lust for blood, oozing from every pore. Oh, they're heading for the Wig-Wig Arena, all right. I'd stake my life on it."

"That's good enough for me. We'll follow them," Twig said. "And Sky willing we will find the crew-member the waterwaif saw there. Come on, Pendragon, Cowlquape. Before we lose sight of the goblins."

We hurried forwards and just managed to join the back of the group. Shortly, more goblins joined in. We passed several more stalls, and more tethered animals. The crowd was growing bigger, pushing us forward. Spooler might have smelled bloodlust on them, but all I could smell was their stinking sweat. Evidently they had never heard of deodorant in the Deepwoods. Or soap.

"I'll say this for the roost-mother," I heard a gnokgoblin saying in a high-pitched voice. "She certainly knows how to put on a spectacle."

"Nothing beats a contest with a banderbear pitted against the wig-wigs," agreed a hulking goblin next to him. "It's an absolute classic!"

I heard Twig gasp. I knew we were once again of the same mind. Could it be Goom?

Cowlquape also caught on. "Wasn't there a banderbear on board the _Edgedancer_?" he hissed in Twig's ear. "You think it might be the one the waterwaif saw, don't you?"

"Perhaps," Twig replied, as Cowlquape fought to keep up with Twig amidst the pushing and shoving goblins. "I cannot leave until I know one way or the other."

"Still," Cowlquape continued hopefully, nearly tripping over a short goblin in front of him, "A big strong creature like a banderbear can defend itself against wig-wigs, surely?"

"I once saw what a pack of wig-wigs can do to a banderbear," Twig said, shaking his head. He fumbled with the charms and pendants around his neck and held up a particularly large one…a banderbear tooth. "This is all that is left of that banderbear."

Uh-oh.

"But…_Whoooah!_" cried Cowlquape. We were being shoved forwards onto a wide walkway above which hung an archway. Gold letters emblazoned across it read: THE WIG-WIG ARENA. Beyond the archway, we were greeted with a sight that was at once astonishing and horrifying.

We were standing on the edge of a massive clearing. Around this clearing was a ring of enormous curved terraces, arranged in tiers to form a vast stadium, lit by a great circle of torches and already packed with people. Below these terraces was an enormous web of netting which extended all the way from the lower tiers to the ground, forming a vast funnel-shaped enclosure. At the very bottom, on the moss-covered forest floor, I could see a few small openings in the net, just wide enough to accommodate the quigs, or wig-wigs, or…whatever.

On one end of the stadium was a spectacular tree…the largest I had seen in the slave market. It wasn't quite as thick as the colossal tree that had concealed the flume gate on Eelong, but it was a lot taller. There were a bunch of platforms suspended from the tree's lower branches. Shryke guards stood erect on the lowest set of platforms, gazing coldly down upon the arena below. In the middle of this area was a weird structure that looked sort of like a wide, fortified Port-a-Potty with a barred window on its door, and a long wooden plank extended out from it into the air directly above the center of the stadium. Above that, there were some fancier constructions, where a gaggle of roost-sisters were preening themselves and rubbing their claws together excitedly. And higher still, inside a super-cushy enclosed viewing box, looking down upon the proceedings with a self-satisfied smile, was a shryke who had to be Mother Muleclaw herself.

The Roost-Mother wore an absurdly elaborate crested headdress and a gleaming silvery cloak. Her bright, multicolored plumage was adorned with more of that glowing-bug jewelry. There was no mistaking the amused malice in her expression. She was definitely the one running the show.

"Move along, there," snapped a shryke standing behind us. "Move right down into the arena." We hastily obeyed before the shryke decided to persuade us with her flail. That would have been painful. We slowly moved through the terraces, at last stopping at a vacant spot directly opposite from the great tree. Cowlquape shuddered as the roost-mother's gaze briefly passed over our part of the stadium.

"Cowlquape. Calm yourself," muttered Twig soothingly. He swept his arm through the air. "There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of individuals here. They're not interested in us when there's so much money to be made."

Suddenly, I became aware that there were dozens of tally-hens moving through the stadium, making notes as spectators called out to them. The people were placing bets! With a sick feeling, I glanced up at the Port-a-Potty-like capsule and the long plank, and my worst fears were confirmed. Just like in the Quillan Games, the spectators were betting on the outcome of a match…which probably consisted of someone being thrown to the quigs. At least nobody seemed to be betting their children here.

"No, I suppose not," Cowlquape said. "All the same…" He suddenly pointed up at the capsule. "There's someone in there,"

That's what I had suspected, too. And sure enough, there were fingers gripping the bars at the window. It wasn't a banderbear, though…the fingers were much too small.

Suddenly, a trumpeting fanfare rang out. Several shrykes holding long, tasseled horns had emerged on the lower platform. They repeated the fanfare a second time. Now, an excited silence fell among the spectators.

Slowly and deliberately, Mother Muleclaw stood up, clicking her beak. "We are gratified to see so many here," the roost-mother proclaimed. "We know you will not be disappointed by this evening's contest. It isn't every night we get to see a banderbear in battle."

The crowd bellowed its approval. I felt my stomach clench.

"Before the main event, we have a little surprise for you. The appetizer, so to speak." She clucked amusedly, and leaned forwards. "Release the prisoner," she called out imperiously.

With a feathery salute, one of the shryke guards on the lowest platform unlocked the capsule, and an all-too-familiar figure stepped out.

It was Thunderbolt Vulpoon.

It was Saint Dane.

As much as I knew that the demon was doing nothing more than putting on a show of fear and confusion, I couldn't help smirking. I vividly remembered the time on Denduron when the situation had been totally reversed. On that occasion, he had stood beside Queen Kagan in the Bedoowan stadium, given a fancy speech, and looked on as a terrifying quig-bear had ripped a Milago miner limb from limb. Now, it was Saint Dane himself who was being thrown to the quigs…thrown to his own beasts.

"Thunderbolt Vulpoon," Cowlquape gasped. "This is what he had planned for us!"

"If I'd known, I'd never have handed him over to the shrykes," Twig muttered. "Not even a slave-trader deserves this."

"Trust me, he deserves it," I said. "That's Saint Dane, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right," said Twig, looking sheepish.

The shryke guard on the platform cracked her flail menacingly, forcing Vulpoon/Saint Dane towards the end of the wooden plank. "Why?" he screamed up at Mother Muleclaw. "For the love of Sky, why are you doing this?"

Mother Muleclaw let out a squawk of irritation, and Vulpoon/Saint Dane cowered as the shryke guard struck him around the head with her flail.

"We had promised you a leaguesman from Undertown for your delectation," continued Mother Muleclaw, to a fresh wave of cheers. "Or perhaps even a Sanctaphrax academic," she went on, and the crowd roared even more excitedly.

"Unfortunately," Mother Muleclaw clucked, "due to circumstances beyond our control, this will not now be possible…"

Indignant howls and boos filled the Wig-Wig Arena. Mother Muleclaw gazed down at Vulpoon/Saint Dane contemptuously. "All I can offer you is this miserable specimen. Still I am sure he'll put on an excellent show for you." She raised her wings in the air and screeched, "I give you Thunderbolt Vulpoon, the sky pirate captain."

The crowd went berserk. Everyone was cheering and yelling and roaring for blood. Vulpoon/Saint Dane was now being pushed forward with a pike. A chant began, and grew in volume, drowning out all other noise.

"Down! Down! Down!"

In the next instant, Vulpoon/Saint Dane turned directly towards the point where Twig, Spooler, Cowlquape, and I were sitting, and gave a small grin. Nobody else heard the words he spoke to me.

"Violent bunch, the people of this territory, wouldn't you say, Pendragon?"

The moment passed. Vulpoon/Saint Dane wore a very convincing look of mortal terror as he toppled from the plank and tumbled head over heels through the air, landing on the bed of moss on the forest floor. All around us, the crowd bellowed.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane righted himself, gave his head a shake, and drew his sword and dagger, glancing around. For a moment, nothing happened. Then…

"There! Over there!" screamed a guy near us, indicating a flash of orange. A quig was approaching Vulpoon/Saint Dane, having emerged from one of the holes in the net, and immediately leapt forward, massive jaws agape. People started betting again, more furiously than ever; the tally-hens had to sprint this way and that to take note of them all.

"Twenty-five on twelve minutes!"

"Fifty on forty-seven dead wig-wigs!"

"A hundred that he's got a maximum of ten seconds left!"

Cowlquape looked revolted. I was too; even though it was Saint Dane down there, I couldn't stand to see the greed and eagerness on all the spectators' faces.

Vulpoon/Saint Dane had disappeared under a heaving mass of orange fur. I glanced at Twig, and saw to my surprise that he looked satisfied. "That's it, then," he said. "Saint Dane is finished. That's the end of his evil quest."

"No, it isn't," I said sharply. "Saint Dane can't be killed."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Twig. "He's down there getting devoured by his own quigs!"

"Well, yeah, Saint Dane's body can be killed," I said. "I've done it myself, in a fight on Zadaa. But killing his body doesn't stop his spirit. He just reforms his physical self and carries on like nothing happened."

"That's impossible!" Twig cried. "People can't come back from the dead!"

"Saint Dane can," I said simply.

"Look!" Cowlquape gasped.

As the quigs finally scattered, and the crowd roared its approval, a dark shape was moving through the air. A familiar black bird was soaring straight up, noticed by no one else in the crowd. It opened its beak, letting out a caw that couldn't be heard over the cheering of the spectators, and disappeared into the blackness of the surrounding market.

"What in Sky's name…?" muttered Twig.

"It's Saint Dane," I said. "He transformed and flew away. Simple as that."

Twig leaned back, looking dumbfounded. He had just gotten a real taste of Saint Dane's powers, and it definitely rocked him.

"Twig, I can't emphasize this enough," I said fiercely. "The biggest mistake you could make as a Traveler would be to underestimate what Saint Dane is capable of. He won't be beaten by a cheap trick. He won't even be beaten if we win the territory. He'll just go to another territory and cause more havoc. And he'll keep going until Halla is his."

"Then…" Twig paused. "Then how _do_ we beat him?"

"That's a question I've been asking myself ever since I learned I was a Traveler." I said. "I don't know, and I don't think any of us are likely to know any time soon. But I have to believe it can be done. My Uncle Press told me a long time ago that Saint Dane wouldn't fail until he thinks he's won. I think that means our efforts are going to appear more and more futile as time wears on, but that there will come a day when we have a real opening to stop him for good. In the meantime, though, all we can do is fight him in whatever way we can. And right now, that means saving First Edge."

I had just dropped a huge bombshell on Twig. I was anxious to see how he would take it. Predictably, the news didn't seem to make him happy. But he gulped, nodded, and said "I understand, Pendragon."

I really hoped he did.

I looked back at the giant tree, to see a shryke guard handing Mother Muleclaw a slip of paper. The roost-mother stood up again, and silence fell once more.

"The sky pirate captain managed to kill forty-three wig-wigs before his demise," she said loudly. "And twenty-seven more were wounded."

A few spectators screamed in delight and waved their betting slips in the air. Far more of them groaned in disappointment. Some—presumably the ones who had bet a little too much—sobbed and howled.

"The contest lasted for precisely ten minutes and…" Mother Muleclaw paused, and those with betting slips stared up at her unblinkingly. "Ten minutes and forty seconds. That's four-o. Forty."

Once more, there were a few ecstatic whoops and a great chorus of moans. The roost-mother then clacked her beak again to silence the spectators.

"But now, my friends," she proclaimed loudly, "we must proceed. It is time for the evening's main event." She gave a nod to a shryke guard, who began to turn a massive wheel built into the side of the tree. With a screechy, clanking noise, a massive cage slowly descended out of the tree canopy.

"A classic contest!" screeched Mother Muleclaw. "The ultimate confrontation! Power versus perseverance. The mighty versus the multitude." She threw back her head, plumage shaking. "For your delectation and delight, a genuine…an extremely rare…in the prime of physical fitness…"

The spectators were eating up her every word. They stood up, yelling and stamping and waving their arms. It was absolutely horrifying.

"I give you…a BANDERBEAR!"

I didn't need to look closely at the beast in the cage to know that this was indeed Goom. Twig's sharp intake of breath was all the proof I needed. One of Twig's crew was going to be thrown to the quigs!

Goom's cage was now level with the royal-box, and the roost-mother reached out to stroke his paws, a hungry look in her eyes. "I know he's going to give those wig-wigs a run for their money," she clucked in a self-satisfied tone.

The crowd went nuts. They were screaming even louder than when Saint Dane had toppled from the plank. "Down! Down! Down! Down!"

Cowlquape looked absolutely horrified. Twig's expression was grim.

"We must act quickly," Twig muttered, hastily pulling out the money pouch and shoving some gold into his acolyte's hand. "Cowlquape, Spooler, go back to that prowlgrin corral we passed. Buy five prowlgrins. The largest and strongest you can find. Then meet me and Pendragon round the other side of the arena, on the walkway directly beneath the branches of the ironwood tree."

Huh? What was a prowlgrin?

"But Twig…" protested Cowlquape.

"_Now_, Cowlquape. And Pendragon, follow me."

Twig stood up and began pushing through the crowd. I hastily followed suit. Nobody seemed to notice us; they were all too busy betting on Goom.

"Thirty gold pieces on twenty-eight minutes and nine seconds."

"Fifty each way on at least two hundred and fifty wig-wigs copping it."

"Seventy-five gold pieces!"

"A hundred!"

I had no idea what Twig was planning, but I knew it had to be something drastic. And probably stupid. Some people cried out indignantly as we elbowed them aside, but neither of us took any notice. Soon, we had made it into the shadow of the great tree, removed from any prying eyes…not that there were any. The spectators were whipping themselves up into a frenzy.

Twig then withdrew from his belt a slender grappling hook. He wound up and hurled it upwards with all his might. I was briefly afraid it might come back down and bean a shryke. That would have given the game away pretty quickly. But Twig knew what he was doing; it hooked around an upper branch on his first try.

After Twig had climbed to the top, he gestured down at me, and I scurried up the rope as well. I wasn't quite as agile as Twig, but I nevertheless managed it after a few moments.

I suddenly realized what Twig was about to do. It was totally brilliant…or maybe totally stupid. I was leaning towards the second. The plan was awesome, to be sure, but all the same I wished we weren't the ones trying to pull it off.

We sneaked along the branch, making our way around the trunk until we were right above the roost-mother's royal-box. Goom's cage was now almost to the ground; he would surely be dropped in a few seconds.

"And so," screeched Mother Muleclaw, her wings extended above her head, "let the contest begin…_Whurrggh!_"

The crowd drew their breath as one. Twig had dropped down into the royal-box and was now grasping Mother Muleclaw by the throat, his dagger at her neck. I slid down to join him in the box, and gazed at the wide-eyed crowd far below.

"Stop lowering the cage!" roared Twig, shifting the knife slightly so that the blade gleamed in the torchlight. "Bring it up level with the royal-box again—or the roost-mother gets it!"

The shryke lowering the cage gave an outraged squawk, then hesitantly began to turn the wheel the other way, causing the cage to ascend. Below us, the roost-sisters were shrieking in agitation, and there were shryke guards approaching the royal-box from nearby walkways, cracking their flails and drawing their clubs.

"Back off!" bellowed Twig. "Tell them," he snarled, speaking right into the roost-mother's ear. "Tell them now."

"St…stay back," clucked Mother Muleclaw fearfully.

"And tell them to drop their weapons!"

"Do as he says!" Mother Muleclaw squawked in a strangled voice.

"That's better," Twig said. "Pendragon, help Goom."

I leaned forward as the cage drew level with the royal-box, and undid the clasps on the lid, opening the top of the cage. Now, the crowd realized what we were up to, and yells of outrage filled the arena.

"They've released it!" they all roared. "They're letting it go!"

Twig pulled the quivering roost-mother to the side, making room for the banderbear to get out. With tremendous effort, Goom pulled himself up and out of his cage, clutching awkwardly at an overhanging branch.

"It's getting away!" screamed the spectators below.

The banderbear let himself drop heavily into the royal-box, making it shudder alarmingly. He filled up almost all of the remaining space; Mother Muleclaw was squished up in the corner.

"Goom," said Twig softly. "I knew it was you."

"Wuh?" Goom muttered as he climbed to his feet. "T-wuh-g?"

"Yes, Goom," Twig said. "Didn't I promise that I'd never abandon my crew?" He quickly looked at the branches above. "Pull yourself up onto that branch above our heads. Then pull me and Pendragon up beside you."

Looking apprehensive, the banderbear trembled and stepped forward. The royal-box swayed violently once more. Twig nearly lost his grip on the dagger, but steadied his hand, and Mother Muleclaw squawked in pain as it nicked the scales underneath her feathers. The crowd gave a disappointed howl as Goom grabbed the branch and tried to pull his massive body up on top of it.

"A hundred and fifty says he doesn't make it," shouted someone below. "Two hundred says we'll be looking at a new roost-mother before the night is out!" roared another voice. As if this was a signal, a fresh wave of wagering started up, and the arena was flooded with noise once again.

As I watched Goom struggling, I thought back to my hellish two weeks of warrior training on Zadaa…or specifically, to the second day, when Loor's acolyte, Saangi, had forced me to leap across a series of vertical bars suspended over a pit, to earn a much-needed drink of water. When I had started out, I lost my balance and found myself hanging from one of the bars. As I learned the hard way that morning, it is incredibly hard to get on top of a bar you are dangling from. But it must have been a whole nother league of difficulty for Goom, because he weighed a couple of tons and was definitely not built for climbing.

Amazingly, Goom managed to do it on his third attempt. He swung his body upwards just high enough to grip his legs around the branch. Goom would make an awesome Ghee warrior.

"Wuh!" Goom yodeled, reaching his claws out for us. Twig and I stepped forwards, and Goom wrapped his arms around our bodies, effortlessly hoisting us up onto the branch next to him.

Of course, this meant that Twig had to release Mother Muleclaw. No sooner was she free than she began to shriek with rage.

"Seize them!" she screeched as she hopped around in fury. "No one threatens the roost-mother and lives! Guards…_Aaargh!_"

Goom had reached down and cut most of the ropes keeping the royal-box in place with one great swipe. The box now swayed worse than ever, tilted at a strange angle, and Mother Muleclaw gazed up at us with terror in her eyes. I didn't feel remotely sorry for her. She and her subordinates were responsible for so much misery.

"No," begged the roost-mother with a faint whimper. "Have pity…"

"Pity?" yelled Twig. "The only pity is that this was not done long ago." He then swung his knife and severed the remaining ropes.

Mother Muleclaw let out an earsplitting, continuous, unbroken shriek of terror as the royal-box dropped down towards the stadium below. At once the spectators roared so loudly that the entire arena trembled. They were going to get their show after all. The tally-hens were frantically struggling to keep pace with the bellowed wagers.

"A hundred on…"

"Five hundred that…"

"A thousand!"

I didn't care to look at the quigs swarming into the pit. I turned instead to Twig, who was trying to coax Goom to safety. "Edge your way along the branch," he said loudly, "then down onto that one, there. It's almost as wide as the walkways. And then, when I say jump, jump!"

"Wuh!" cried Goom, looking scared. The branch Twig had indicated was indeed sturdy-looking, but I knew that the idea of jumping was horrifying to the poor creature. The noise of the screeching shrykes and chanting crowd was becoming overwhelming.

"Trust me," Twig said, barely audible over the din. We all edged forward, arms stretched out for balance. This part of the branch was thinner, and it began to bend ominously. From there, we stepped down onto the bigger branch. It was time to move.

"Jump!" Twig roared.

"Wuh!" bellowed the banderbear, and he leapt down, carrying us with him.

We landed with a heavy thud on the walkway. But we were far from safe. Enraged shrykes were bearing down on us from all directions, pouring from the connecting walkways and screeching terrible oaths. I could still see people swarming into the arena, eager to see what was happening below.

"Twig! Twig!" Cowlquape and Spooler had appeared behind us, with five truly bizarre creatures that had to be the "prowlgrins". They looked so alien that I don't know if I can do a good job describing them, but I'll try.

They kind of looked like a cross between giant frogs and the front end of a whale, with thick hairy beards flowing down from extremely wide mouths full of sharp teeth. I'd estimate they were about twice my size. They were pretty much all head, with extremely low-set eyes that were situated on either side, like a horse. They were bipedal but kind of hunched over, with three claws on each limb and opposable toes on their huge hind bowlegs. They had giant, quivering nostrils on top of their heads, large enough to fit a baseball into. They had mottled skin, and each one was a different color.

Perhaps most important of all, they were fitted with reins and saddles. I now understood why Twig wanted them. They were our ticket out of here. But I still wasn't quite sure how we were going to use them to get past the stampede of murderous shrykes.

"Well done, Cowlquape!" yelled Twig, as we dashed to meet him and Spooler. Beside us, Goom swiped his paw at the oncoming shrykes, knocking a couple of them off the walkway and sending many of the others into a screechy panic.

"They were the biggest ones I could find," gasped Cowlquape. The prowlgrins made curious whinnying noises and strained on the end of their tethers.

"Ideal," Twig said with a smile. "Goom, take the biggest. Climb up, all of you."

"Wuh-wuh!" moaned Goom.

"It's the _only_ way," Twig said firmly. "Come on!" Goom hesitantly climbed onto one of the prowlgrins' backs, and the creature wheezed with exertion. My prowlgrin's back was broad and rounded. Without that saddle I'd never have been able to stay on.

"All right?" Twig called out.

We all nodded, even Goom.

"Let's get out of here!"

I had some experience at riding. As well as riding horses on a few territories, I also managed to get used to the spindly-legged zenzens on Eelong. But riding a prowlgrin turned out to be so far removed from plain old horseback riding that it wasn't even funny. When I tugged the reins and kicked the creature's flanks, I expected it to tear off down the walkway.

That's not what happened.

Instead, it took a tremendous leap into the air! The ground dropped out beneath my feet, and it felt like I was flying. But then, it crashed down onto another walkway, and immediately jumped again. The other four were doing the same thing.

I was scared out of my freakin' mind. We were on the backs of a group of powerful animals bounding energetically through the market at tremendous speed, smashing through stalls and knocking shrykes flying. Anything could go wrong. The prowlgrins might miss a walkway, or I might get decapitated by a stray tree branch, or…I didn't want to think about the possibilities.

But after a few more moments, I realized that these beasts knew exactly what they were doing. They were jumping with unfailing precision, and also seemed to be taking care to allow a few feet of clear air above them to prevent their riders from smacking into anything. Once I got the feel of the prowlgrin's movement, I actually started to have fun. This was essentially the wildest roller-coaster ride of my life.

Cowlquape didn't seem to be so adaptable. Beside me, I could see his terrified expression every so often through the tree trunks flashing past. We had now left the walkways, left the Great Shryke Slave Market entirely, and were simply bounding from branch to branch. Believe it or not, this part actually felt a little smoother. The prowlgrins seemed more sure-footed in their natural environment. Here and there, I caught flashes of the four others through the trees.

But the noise of the market didn't fade. I looked back and saw, with a feeling of dread, that we were being chased by a small team of shryke guards, each sitting astride their own prowlgrin. Cowlquape had noticed too.

"What do we do, Twig? They're catching up," he cried.

"Courage, Cowlquape!" Twig responded. "Prowlgrins are beasts of the Deepwoods. They're used to traveling through the dark forest. But shrykes are roost creatures. They seldom stray far from the flock."

The woods were growing darker as the slave market receded. And then…

"It's all right!" Twig called out joyfully. "Cowlquape, open your eyes. It's all right."

Now that we were in darkness, Twig, Spooler, Goom, and I were glowing again, casting eerie shadows over the nearby trunks of the trees.

A moment later, Twig yelled, "They've stopped!"

And sure enough, no sooner had the lights of the slave market faded completely than I saw the shrykes turn tail and bound backwards. I also noticed that our cockades were gone; the material had rotted away to nothing. We had chosen exactly the right moment to leave.

Score one more for us. There were just two crew members left to find. The question was, where the heck should we go now?


	32. Journal 41, Part 4: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

"Thank Sky!" I heard Cowlquape gasp. "We've beaten them! We…_whooah!_" He struggled in panic for a few seconds as he slipped in his saddle, but managed to right himself.

"Careful Cowlquape," Twig shouted. "We might have escaped the Great Shryke Slave Market, but there are still qui…I mean, there are still wig-wigs below on the forest floor."

Dang, I forgot! We now had not one but two others with us; Traveler discussion would be nearly impossible now.

We kept going, not easing up, not stopping. Man, these prowlgrins could haul! Now that we were outside of the built-up area of the Great Shryke Slave Market, they had a clearer space to leap, and their speed was truly amazing. We were now above the canopy, able to see the starry sky above, and bounding thousands of feet at a time. I'd have to guesstimate we were going at least two hundred miles an hour for some parts of the journey. It was unbelievable. These things put cheetahs to shame. The only drawbacks were the extreme cold of the wind whooshing past us, and the increasingly demanding amount of energy required to hold onto the reins.

I don't know how long we traveled that night. Maybe an hour or two. All I know is that I suddenly heard Cowlquape yelling, "How much farther?"

"Just a little," bellowed Twig. "We must…"

"Captain!" cried Spooler in alarm. "Captain Twig, it's Goom's prowlgrin."

Twig wheeled around in his saddle, and groaned. "Oh, no."

I looked back too, and saw Goom's prowlgrin groaning and whimpering under the banderbear's tremendous weight. "Wuh," moaned Goom, his face stricken with fear. "Wuh-wuh."

The prowlgrin seemed too weary to leap that accurately. Going on would be dangerous. We had no choice but to stop.

Twig gave a sigh, and tugged his prowlgrin's reins. "Down!" he shouted over the whooshing of the wind. "We're going down."

At first, we didn't descend at all. The prowlgrins merely slowed their bounding leaps. But as we decelerated, they began to drop down beneath the canopy, heading for the forest floor. I looked as intently as I could at the ground, but couldn't see any quigs. It looked as if we were safe for now.

We finally came to a halt on a thick bed of fluffy grass. We all dismounted, Goom's prowlgrin promptly collapsing with exhaustion. Spooler then gathered together all the prowlgrins and tethered them to a nearby tree. Twig and Goom then ran to each other and fell into a tight embrace, shining brilliantly and illuminating the whole glade around us.

"You did it!" Cowlquape cried joyfully. "You did it!"

"_We_ did it," Twig corrected him, turning to smile at his acolyte. "You and me and Pendragon and Spooler, and Goom himself. We all did it!"

Twig looked at the surrounding glade. We all knew that we couldn't handle any more traveling tonight…it was time to get some rest.

"We'll stop here, and set off again early tomorrow morning," said Twig. "Cowlquape, Spooler, Pendragon, get a fire going. Goom and I will see about something to eat."

"Aye, aye, captain," Spooler said respectfully.

We all watched Twig and Goom move away through the trees, their glow moving from trunk to trunk. The glow cast by me and Spooler still allowed for plenty of light, but it was greatly diminished. More than that, we would need a fire for cooking. It was time to snap to it.

Cowlquape and I circled the edges of the glade, picking up small branches from the surrounding bushes. After several minutes, we returned to Spooler. "Good," he said, examining our armloads. "Make a pile over there."

We dumped our sticks where the oakelf had indicated, and he soon returned with a clump of some fluffy material, which he began blowing on vigorously.

"What's that?" Cowlquape and I asked at the same time.

"Barkmoss," Spooler explained, still puffing and panting, turning red in the face. "Excellent tinder. Usually. The accursed stuff's damp though." After a few more gasping blows, the moss suddenly caught fire. Spooler placed it on top of a flat rock near the center of the clearing, and said, "Get me some small twigs. Dry ones."

We both retrieved a few from the pile and handed them to Spooler, who promptly arranged them in a pyramid above the burning heap of moss. The fire grew. As we added larger and larger pieces, we soon had roaring flames. The warmth was a huge relief after the frigid journey we had made across the top of the Deepwoods.

Spooler managed to dig up some plates and cooking pots from our provisions, and busied himself getting everything ready for when Twig and Goom returned. Cowlquape and I sat by the fire, warming ourselves. We both seemed to draw comfort from being close to it, because there were all kinds of creepy noises coming from deeper within the forest. I heard shrieks and roars and caws and all kinds of other, more sinister sounds.

"How are you feeling?" I muttered to Cowlquape.

"Nervous, but I feel safer around the rest of you."

Yikes. Certainly I felt safer around Twig too, but the fact that Cowlquape was including me in that felt sort of wrong. I think I was just as frightened as he was.

"I do too," I said. "But I must confess that I'm growing more anxious for the territory. We've rescued most of Twig's crew, but we haven't made any improvement in his memory. If we don't have a breakthrough soon, we'll be totally oblivious when the turning point strikes."

"Well, Saint Dane tried to trip us up at least once," Cowlquape pointed out. "That probably means we're on the right track."

"But I'm not sure it does," I said nervously. "Back on the _Skyraider_, Saint Dane told me that with every passing day, it will grow harder for us to stop the turning point. I don't know what that means, but it makes me uneasy. What if we're doing exactly the wrong thing by going out of our way to rescue Twig's crew? I know Twig made a promise never to abandon them, and the idea of leaving them to their fate is horrible, but maybe that's the way it was meant to be. Maybe we're dooming the territory by spending all this time on Twig's quest."

"We don't know that," Cowlquape said, pulling a barkscroll out of his pouch. "Even if we did stop looking, what would we do then? We'd be stuck. Twig has the key to the whole thing locked somewhere inside his mind. Perhaps some of his crew does as well. That's our only lead, and I think we have to follow it."

I had to admit that Cowlquape was making all sorts of sense. I wanted to be reassured by his words. But all the same, I had a nagging worry. When Saint Dane hints at what is to come, you can't just ignore it.

Suddenly, the undergrowth nearby rustled, and Twig and Goom reemerged with a heavy sack. Twig dumped out the contents of the sack, which turned out to be a cluster of odd-looking fruits and vegetables.

"Oakapples, delberries, yarrowroots," said Twig happily, "and numerous other delicacies especially selected by Goom with his sensitive banderbear nose, as being both nutritious and delicious!"

"Wuh!" agreed the banderbear with a nod. I suddenly realized that Goom was carrying the carcass of a strange creature on his shoulder. It looked sort of like a scrawny white antelope with a long, pleated, droopy snout. Protruding from its neck was a crude arrow.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A tilder buck," Cowlquape said in awe. "Did you shoot that, Twig?"

"With my improvised homemade bow and arrow," chuckled Twig proudly. "It's been a long time, but I haven't lost my touch. Steaks for us and the rest of the carcass for the prowlgrins."

Suddenly, the air around us was filled with the noise of coughing. Cowlquape panicked and shielded his head, his eyes shut tight. I looked to the others and saw with relief that they were chortling at Cowlquape's reaction. This was nothing to worry about.

"It's just a fromp," Twig said as Cowlquape raised his head slowly. "Quite harmless…"

"_Wa-iiiiiii-kakakakaka_…"

Once again, Cowlquape cringed and ducked. This time I didn't need to look at Twig's reaction to know Cowlquape was overreacting again.

"Cowlquape," Twig said gently. "You're right to be cautious, for the Deepwoods is a dark and dangerous place. But I'm afraid you're just going to have to get used to the sounds it makes."

Cowlquape nodded, looking embarrassed. "I think I need some of that gabtroll's special tea."

"Perhaps that can be arranged," Twig said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "We've got the oakapples." He turned to look at the banderbear. "Did you find any hairy charlock?"

The banderbear gingerly picked through the pile with his massive paws and fished out a plump little root with feathery leaves. "Wuh," he said, and handed it to Twig along with a few clumps of another plant.

"There. All the ingredients we need," said Twig.

After a bit of cooking, we settled down to eat our meal. I soon realized that the tilder was the same kind of creature that our steaks from the Great Shryke Slave Market had come from…and we seemed to have done a better job of cooking it. It was juicy and delicious, and the assortment of roots Goom had picked out were just as tasty. It was all excellent.

"Not bad," said Cowlquape, sipping the tea we had made for him. "The gabtroll's was sweeter, but…not bad at all." The forest around us resounded with a fresh outburst of animal calls. "And what's more," he added, "it seems to be doing the trick."

"Glad to hear it, Cowlquape," Twig said, yawning hugely. "I…" he instantly yawned a second time, along with Goom, whose gaping fangs were exposed in all their fearsome glory. I found myself paralyzed by my own yawn attack…I was dog tired.

"Why don't you three get some sleep. I'll take first watch," Cowlquape said warmly.

"I'll join you," Spooler added.

Twig nodded. "We'll rest up till dawn. Make an early start."

Before I could give any more thought to our adventure, my head hit the ground and I was out like a light. My sleep wasn't exactly untroubled, because I had one or two really creepy dreams…including one where I sat in the auditorium of Davis Gregory High, watching a long line of shrykes do the can-can up onstage, while Saint Dane clapped appreciatively in the background. But hey, I had been through a hell of a lot recently, and a few unsettling nighttime visions were to be expected. I still managed to wake up the next morning feeling pretty well rested.

That day was a pretty grueling trudge, because the sky was gray and drizzly, and the humidity soon had us covered in clammy sweat. Furthermore, none of us dared to say the thing that was on all of our minds. We all knew that finding an individual in the Deepwoods would be impossible. From the shooting star chart the Professor of Darkness had given us, I could see that the Deepwoods took up the vast majority of the Edge. I had thought Undertown was enormous when we had wandered through it, but comparing Undertown to the Deepwoods was like comparing Stony Brook to the entire United States. I don't think any of us were kidding ourselves that we would be successful. The unspoken but definite plan was to find a village that traded with leaguesmen or sky pirates, so that we could buy passage back to Undertown. Perhaps we would find some other way to bring back Twig's memory, or discover the turning point through some other means. Unfortunately, trying to find a village wasn't much easier than trying to find a single person.

The Deepwoods really was a beautiful place, for all its danger. I'd even say its beauty rivaled the jungles of Eelong. Everywhere we went, the trees towered above us; sometimes massive stands of trees stood out far above the rest of the canopy. Lush green foliage abounded everywhere we looked, as well as spectacular flowering plants that gave off delightful fragrances. And we kept seeing more and more bizarre creatures—though most were mercifully small and harmless. Whenever the sun came out and the light gleamed through the dappled glades, I couldn't help but be cheerful.

We covered a tremendous amount of ground each day. We spent each morning traveling on foot, leading the prowlgrins on tethers, then in the afternoon we rode them above the canopy at breakneck speeds. At night, we would forage for dinner and the next day's breakfast, and we would round off the evening by sleeping in shifts (Twig and I both spent most of our watches writing our journals). Gradually, we were able to travel over longer and longer distances as Goom's prowlgrin built up the strength necessary to hold the banderbear. But we never came across any villages at all. Civilization in the Deepwoods was extremely spread out.

Twig and Cowlquape increasingly spent their evenings in deep, worried discussion. With every passing day we failed to find a village, they became more concerned. We hadn't yet run into anything dangerous, but Twig had spent a lot of time educating us about some particularly horrible animals—and plants—that he had tangled with when he was younger. I won't describe them all to you, but the thought of each one was enough to make me pray desperately that we would find some kind of settlement quickly.

It wasn't until the tenth day of traveling that anything interesting happened.

We woke up as usual, and Cowlquape went over to check on the prowlgrins. But they were gone. He turned to us, looking frantic.

"I just can't believe it," he said miserably. "I'm sure I checked them before I went to bed. They did seem jumpy—but I thought they'd be all right."

"Something must have scared them," said Twig harshly, looking alert. "Didn't I tell you to double-knot the tether ropes?"

"Sorry," Cowlquape muttered, red-faced, staring down at his feet. "So—what do we do now, without the prowlgrins?"

"We go on," snapped Twig. "On foot." I glanced at Twig, and saw that he looked both angry and afraid. That wasn't good.

We all followed Twig, who crashed through the undergrowth in great strides. Spooler and Cowlquape practically had to sprint to keep up.

"Why can't we rest?" gasped Cowlquape after several minutes. "Or at least slow down a bit?"

Twig strode back over to Cowlquape and put a hand on his shoulder. "You've still got a lot to learn about the Deepwoods, Cowlquape." He was making a brave effort to hide it, but I still sensed his fear. "They might look peaceful and idyllic, but behind every tree there lurks danger—and we still don't know what may have upset the prowlgrins. We must find a settlement as soon as we can, or we will surely perish."

"But Twig, a few minutes' rest can't hurt, can it?" Cowlquape implored.

The next instant, we heard a sound that I guarantee would make Cowlquape regret those words for the rest of his life.

"Aaargh! _Aaaargh! _AAAAARGH!"

Spooler's screams were coming from a grassy glade up ahead, but as we dashed forwards I couldn't see the oakelf. But I saw Goom, leaping up and down frantically, slashing out with his claws and bellowing. A whine of panic was growing in my chest. This was bad. Where the heck was Spooler? And what was going on?

"What's the matter with him?" cried Cowlquape.

"This is the Deepwoods, Cowlquape!" exclaimed Twig, drawing his sword and hurling himself forwards to help the others. "I told you—there is danger everywhere!"

Cowlquape unsheathed his dagger, looking scared, as I caught up with him. We both stood frozen, not knowing what would happen if we set foot in the clearing. It looked perfectly normal, filled with gently swaying blades of long grass, but there was definitely something bad in there. Goom waved frantically at Twig, clearly imploring him to get away and save himself.

And then, Twig began cutting and swiping with his sword. "I should have guessed!" he called back to us. "We're in a bed of reed-eels. They must nest all round here. No wonder the prowlgrins fled. Protect yourself…"

I suddenly saw it. Beyond the outer circle of grass were hundreds and hundreds of writhing-snake like creatures with deep-set orange eyes and petal-shaped suckers. They looked exactly like blades of grass…until they took a bite out of you. Several of them moved towards us, mouthparts agape.

"Get off!" howled Cowlquape, wildly swinging his knife. The reed-eels instantly retracted into the soil, but more were approaching.

Goom was now bolting away from the clearing, and Spooler was draped over his back, limp and unresponsive. Twig dashed back over and pulled us away from the oncoming reed-eels. "Hurry. We must get out of here. The reed-eels are in a feeding frenzy."

There was nothing for it. To continue, we had to make a mad dash through the reed-eels' territory. This could get hairy.

As we moved, it became apparent that the reed-eels weren't mindless predators…they were using strategy. With every leap Cowlquape and I took, the surrounding reed-eels twisted together, trying to trip us. I kept my eyes glued to the ground, sidestepping these clusters wherever they occurred. "Deepwoods," breathed Cowlquape fearfully. "Danger…"

At last, we reached the other side, and collapsed into the bed of grass. It couldn't have taken more than ten seconds, but it felt like a million.

"That…was…close," gasped Cowlquape, struggling for breath. "I…"

"_Too_ close," Twig said.

My stomach clenched in dread. I slowly lifted my gaze, to be greeted with a sight I will never be able to purge from my brain for as long as I live.

Spooler was lying prone on the forest floor, and Twig and Goom were kneeling down beside him. The oakelf's whole body was bloated and blotchy, covered in petal-shaped marks, and his face was a livid purple. His eyes stared straight up at the Deepwoods canopy, fixed and unmoving, and his face was contorted in a silent scream of agony and terror. I didn't have to be a doctor, or an expert on Deepwoods wildlife, to know that Spooler wouldn't be getting up again.

"Is he…?" Cowlquape whimpered.

"Dead," Twig nodded solemnly. "The fangs of the reed-eels have spread their venom through him."

I bent double, overcome by dry heaves. Cowlquape stared down at Spooler's body, frozen in shock. "Blast you!" he screamed, raising his head and shaking his fist. "Blast you, Deepwoods!"

"Take care, Cowlquape," said Twig hastily, helping Cowlquape upright and brushing him off. "The Deepwoods have ears. Believe me, I know."

Cowlquape fell silent.

I couldn't believe what had just happened. Spooler, dead! After all the help he had given us, all the determination and cleverness the oakelf had demonstrated, he couldn't just die. It wasn't fair. For a moment, I thought I would try using my Traveler abilities to bring him back. I had never healed or resurrected a non-Traveler before, but I knew it was possible. Saint Dane did it to Courtney back on Second Earth, after all.

But even as I started towards Spooler's body, I knew that it wasn't meant to be. Spooler had died a regular death, as a direct result of the ordinary hazards of the territory. It wasn't the Travelers' job to change things about a territory just because they didn't seem right. After all, that was what separated us from Saint Dane.

We held a hasty burial for Spooler. Twig explained to me that oakelf tradition called for interment within the roots of a lullabee tree. We did a bit of searching and, sooner than I expected, managed to find an eerie grove of trees bathed in turquoise light. Twig buried the body deep inside one of the trees' roots and tearfully muttered, "Farewell, Spooler." And then, we were off.

After that nasty episode, Cowlquape and I looked at the surrounding Deepwoods with a new fear. Any corner might be concealing something deadly. We passed through clearings, traveled up and down hills, hiked up the sides of elevated outcroppings, and trudged through foul marshes. Without the prowlgrins, the afternoon trudge was a nightmare.

Gradually, the sun set, and the Deepwoods was bathed in moonlight. I was just about to suggest to Twig that we stop for the night when he suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

"Shall I get some firewood?" Cowlquape asked, clearly hoping that this was the end of that day's horrible journey.

Twig shook his head, and stared down at the ground in amazement. "I don't believe it."

"Wh…what?" Cowlquape stammered, his eyes scanning all around.

"Look!" Twig cried, indicating the ground. "There!"

I had no idea what Twig was talking about, and nor, it seemed, did the others.

"I can't see anything," Cowlquape said, looking puzzled. "Twig, are you all right?"

"It's a path, Cowlquape," Twig exclaimed. "A _woodtroll_ path."


	33. Journal 41, Part 5: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Cowlquape continued to gaze at Twig in confusion. "A woodtroll path?"

"Yes, I'd know it anywhere," Twig said. "The path has been flattened by generations of passing woodtrolls. See there, baked into the mud: it's a footprint. Look at the broad heel, the low arch, the stubby toes. Unmistakable. This is definitely a woodtroll path!"

My spirits soared. At last, at long last, we had found a settlement. But I quickly realized that the discovery of the woodtroll path meant more than that to Twig, who was gazing at us tearfully.

"Once, long ago, I strayed from a path just like this," he told us. "It was a mistake, yet, as I came to learn, my destiny lay beyond the Deepwoods." He let out a great sigh. "Now I seem to have come full circle."

"You think _this_ is the path you strayed from?" said Cowlquape, sounding skeptical.

"All woodtroll paths join up," Twig explained. "They form a network through the Deepwoods—to the lufwood groves, to the market clearings. They connect village to woodtroll village. If we stick to the path—_the_ path—we will come to a woodtroll settlement. And woodtrolls trade with sky pirates! We're saved, Cowlquape! We're saved!"

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's follow the path!" exclaimed Cowlquape, stepping onto it.

"I just can't believe it," muttered Twig. "After so many years, I've found the path again!" He glanced up to see that the rest of us were already trotting along the path. "Hey, wait for me, you two!"

The path we followed wound this way and that, twisting and turning through the dark forest. Frequently we arrived at intersections or forks in the road. Twig never hesitated, always picking a path without missing a beat. "All paths lead to other paths that lead to woodtroll villages," he told us. "We can't go wrong."

But I started to suspect Twig's choices of path weren't random. He seemed to be leading us somewhere. And then, I understood. He was trying to make his way back to _his_ woodtroll village. The one he had been raised in.

And as I realized this, I felt a dead weight sinking into the pit of my stomach. When I returned to Second Earth from my first battle on Denduron, I found my home and my family had vanished without a trace. On Cloral, when Spader had arrived in Panger City, it was to discover that his mother was gone. All the Travelers either never knew their families, or lost them the moment they shouldered their responsibilities.

I had a very strong suspicion that a nasty surprise lay ahead for Twig.

And as we rounded one last corner, we were greeted with an astonishing sight. The woodtroll village consisted of several elevated wooden cabins built into the surrounding trees and accessible by rope ladders. The woodtrolls were bustling this way and that, going about their business before turning in for the night.

Twig's head turned to an ancient lullabee tree near the center of the village. Dangling from it was a vast, empty cocoon, in which an ancient oakelf seemed to be in conversation with someone I couldn't see. Twig's jaw dropped.

"Taghair!" he gasped.

"You know him?" Cowlquape said.

"I…I can hardly believe it," Twig exclaimed. "It's like a dream, Cowlquape. I have indeed come full circle. This isn't any old woodtroll village. This…" he gulped. "This is _my_ village, Cowlquape. I've come home."

I was feeling very uneasy. "Uh, Twig?" I began slowly, "There's something you should…"

But Twig wasn't listening. He was striding through the village briskly, winding his way through trees, taking a very specific route. He continued on for several moments…

…and came to a halt, staring up at a tree near the edge of the village, frozen, as though unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Twig…" I tried to say again.

"This is impossible," Twig muttered softly.

"What is it?" Cowlquape asked nervously.

"The Snatchwood cabin!" he said loudly. "This is where the Snatchwood cabin is supposed to be! It's the home of the woodtroll family who raised me as their own, but…" he gestured up at it. "I can't see any signs that there has ever been a cabin here at all!"

"Twig, listen to me…" I said.

"You, there!" Twig demanded of a middle-aged woodtroll matron who was passing by. "What happened to the Snatchwood cabin?"

"The what cabin?" said the woodtroll, confused.

"The cabin where the Snatchwood family lives!" Twig said impatiently. "You must know of the Snatchwoods! Spelda and Tuntum…and their children, Snodpill and Henchweed and Poohsniff…where are they?"

"I'm not familiar with any of those names," said the woodtroll, sounding irritated, as though she thought Twig was deliberately wasting her time. "I know all of the families around here, and there are no Snatchwoods. Perhaps you are in the wrong village." And she strode away without a backwards glance.

Twig sank to his knees, trembling. "But…but…" he murmured to nobody in particular, tears in his eyes.

I stepped forward and laid a hand on Twig's shoulder. "Twig, come with me. There's something I have to explain to you."

Twig reluctantly stepped into the shade of the tree, as Cowlquape and Goom walked away to give us privacy. I looked at Twig intently, and said, "I know you're upset, Twig. Hell, I was furious when it happened to me. But all the Travelers have to go through it…at least, the ones with any family at all. When you accept your calling, they move on."

"Move on?" shouted Twig, angry tears streaming down his face. "What do you mean, move on?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But my Uncle Press assured me that nothing bad happens to them. He also said that one day we'll all get to see our families again. You'll even see Cloud Wolf."

The mention of Twig's father pushed him over the edge. He pounded the tree in anger and yelled, "And what if I haven't accepted my calling? What if I don't want to be a Traveler?"

I tried to remain patient. "I don't think any of the Travelers wanted this responsibility."

"So why do I need it, then?" he screamed. "Why me? Nothing has ever come easily to me, Pendragon. Why this on top of everything else?"

"What…what do you mean?" I said apprehensively. This was a side of Twig I had never seen, and I knew I had to address it if we were to get anywhere in this quest.

"I never fit in growing up in this village," Twig said bitterly. "The other woodtrolls shunned me because I wasn't like them. It was a miserable way to live. Then, when I strayed from the path, after much wandering through the Deepwoods, after nearly getting killed a thousand times over, I found my father. Cloud Wolf. His sky ship had crash landed near me. When I served aboard his ship, he had high expectations of me. He demanded the very best. And when I finally made a name for myself as a sky pirate captain, I got the Traveler thing dumped on me. At first I could handle it, because my goal as a Traveler tied in so well with my goal as a captain. I was able to dismiss it, because the quest to find my crew seemed so much more…accessible. But I'm starting to see what this all means, and it's not fair!" he buried his face in his hands. "I can barely look after the crew of my ship. How in Sky's name am I expected to look after the future of all existence?"

I stood there for a few moments, as silent tears poured down Twig's cheeks. I took my time before answering. The truth was, I had the answer before Twig was even done with his rant. The hard part was explaining it in the right way.

"Twig," I said slowly and deliberately, "I understand exactly what you're going through. Do you think you're the only Traveler who feels this way? You're wrong. We _all_ do. We were _all_ taken from the lives we knew, and we _all_ had everything we understood about ourselves turned upside down. But we all had to come to terms with it, and play our part in the war for Halla. You know why? Because we're the only ones who can do it."

Twig said nothing.

"Every day, I question whether I am the right person for the job. But never once have I questioned whether _you_ were the right person. You have precisely the kind of courage and desire for justice that a Traveler needs. Who else could have freed a sky ship full of slaves? Who else could have stood up to the roost-mother? And who else could have sailed out into open sky and lived to tell the tale?"

Twig gave a little smile. I had definitely gotten through to him. I knew he was still hurting in a bad way, but he would listen to me and struggle on.

We made to walk back through the village, to meet up with Goom and Cowlquape, who were standing around awkwardly. But as we passed the ancient lullabee tree…

"Twig, lad."

A deep, gravelly voice made us both jump. It was the ancient oakelf Twig had pointed out earlier.

"Come over here," said the oakelf. "And close your mouth if you don't wish to swallow a woodmidge."

Twig seemed a little happier now. Evidently it was a relief to at least see _someone_ he remembered.

"Greetings to you, Taghair," Twig replied, bowing stiffly.

"Oh, such polite phrases and petty graces," said Taghair dismissively.

Twig took a tentative step towards the lullabee tree.

"Come, we must talk," said Taghair, indicating an odd chair-like contraption dangling from the same branch that held the cocoon. "I take it you still remember how to use it."

"Of course," Twig said at once. He strapped himself in, then hoisted the seat into the air until he was level with the ancient oakelf in the cocoon.

"So," Taghair began, "You have come a long way, Twig. I've been expecting you."

Twig looked eager. "You dream caterbird dreams, don't you?" he said, indicating the cocoon. "Was it the caterbird who told you to expect me?"

"No, Twig. It was not your caterbird who informed me that you were on your way." He grasped Twig's hand in his, and I saw a twinkle in his eyes. "It was another who has been calling you—ever since his return from open sky."

Taghair shifted in the cocoon, revealing a strange glow emanating from within.

Could it be?

"Captain Twig," came a thin, high-pitched voice.

Twig gaped in astonishment as he looked into Taghair's cocoon. "Woodfish!" he exclaimed loudly. "It's you! But how…? When…? Where…?"

"Always were a one for questions, weren't you?" Taghair chuckled warmly.

Woodfish bent forwards, poking his head out of the cocoon, his ears twitching. "At your service, captain. I knew you'd make it!"

"B…b…but how is this possible?" spluttered Twig disbelievingly. I was having a hard time getting my head around it myself. We had just stumbled onto another crew member! It seemed too good to be true.

"I believe it was no accident that Woodfish's _shooting star_ fell so close to the woodtroll village where his beloved captain grew up," Taghair continued. "He was drawn to it, you might say. The woodtrolls found him and brought him to me. He has been here ever since. Waiting."

"Waiting?" Twig said, confused.

"Waiting for you," Taghair replied simply.

"I can read thoughts, as you know," cut in Woodfish. "All waifs can. But Taghair, here, taught me how to dream."

"And he proved an excellent pupil," added Taghair. "He dreamt of you and Pendragon lying, broken, in the Stone Gardens below faraway Sanctaphrax."

"You did?" Twig and I burst out at the same time.

Woodfish nodded, and gave us both a smile. "Yes, Captain Twig, Pendragon. And I dreamt of the others, too: Tarp in the taverns, Wingnut Sleet and Bogwitt in the sewers, poor Spooler on the slave ship, and Goom in the hands of the shrykes. My dreams touched all of them."

"He guided you to them, Twig," Taghair continued. "With a whisper here and a word there, he told you which way to go. And then he guided you here."

"You!" Twig cried, gaping in astonishment. "It was _you_ all the time!"

So it had been Woodfish that Twig had been hearing inside his head all those times. What an awesome little dude!

"Every step of the way, captain," nodded Woodfish. "Though I couldn't have done it by dreaming alone. I needed your courage, your stubbornness, and most of all, your loyalty. We _all_ needed that. And we still do."

Twig gazed at the waterwaif, suddenly looking eager. "You discovered _all_ the crew?"

I realized where Twig was going with this. Could it be?

"I did," said Woodfish.

"So the last crew member," Twig continued quickly. "The Stone Pilot. Is the Stone Pilot alive?"

"Yes," confirmed Woodfish.

No big surprise. Saint Dane had told me all of Twig's crew had survived. But it was still good to hear it.

"Where?" Twig demanded. "Tell me where, Woodfish. We must set forth at once. And," he added quickly, "do you remember what happened to the _Edgedancer_? And my father—Woodfish, do you know if Pendragon's memories are indeed true?"

"I don't know," Woodfish continued, the barbels on the ends of his mouth dropping a little. He turned towards me for a second, and said "He's definitely not lying to you, I will say that. I myself remember nothing of what happened after we entered the weather vortex. But I know what lies ahead."

"What does lie ahead, Woodfish? Tell me."

"When I dream of it, my dreams go dark," Woodfish said slowly, "We must go into the darkness, captain, and beyond that. At the very edge of my dreams, the Stone Pilot is waiting."

"But where, Woodfish? Where?" yelled Twig, his eyes wide.

After quickly glancing at Taghair, Woodfish said, "On the other side of the deepest, blackest part of the Deepwoods, where all creation began…_Riverrise_!"


	34. Journal 41, Part 6: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Riverrise!

We were going to the legendary place where First Edge had been born! The place in Cowlquape's barkscrolls! I felt dizzy, excited…this would be the most extraordinary adventure I had experienced on First Edge.

Every territory had thousands of stories and legends, and on multiple occasions I had had the privilege of discovering that some were actually true. The Lost City of Faar on Cloral, which had been the birthplace of that territory's civilization. The secret village of Black Water on Eelong, where gars were able to flourish without the oppression of the klees. The archives of Mr. Pop on Quillan, which held the entirety of society before Blok…until it was destroyed. And now, it seemed, the myth of Riverrise on First Edge…was not a myth at all.

Cowlquape was even more astonished when we told him where we were going next. He looked like a boy in a chocolate factory, who had just been told he could eat as much as he wanted. I didn't blame him. I could only imagine how amazing this must be to him. Hell, it was amazing to _me_.

After picking up some supplies, including some pouches to collect water and a heavy axe, we set off through the village, and a few moments later, Twig stopped in front of an ancient, gnarled tree covered in old rings and hooks.

"The Anchor Tree," Twig explained to us. "This marks the woodtroll village boundary."

"We must strike out on our own from here," Woodfish added.

Above us, I saw a tongue of lightning and a clap of thunder. Big, fat raindrops were falling. Mercifully, it wasn't a mind storm—I had had enough of those—but emotions were running plenty high enough as it was.

"Time for me to stray from the path once again." Twig muttered.

And so, we moved on into the Deepwoods again. I can't say how many more days we went, but we were covering an unbelievable amount of ground every day. I think this was partly because Twig and Woodfish wanted us to stay on the move, so that we wouldn't be easy targets for anything horrible that was lurking in the shadows.

Every day, the woods around us grew darker and scarier-looking as we trudged further and further west. There were some truly terrifying monsters in this part of the forest, which I won't even bother to tell you about. Miraculously, none harmed us, but plenty of them looked like they were seriously considering it.

One day, we stepped out of the shadows of the trees, and were greeted with an amazing and unwelcome sight.

We were looking at a tremendous wall of thorns that stretched as far up and to the sides as I could see. Some of these thorny tendrils were freaking enormous! If you hollowed one of these babies out, you could have fit a Greyhound bus into it. The thorns themselves were like the nose cones of those old Saturn V rockets. There were a lot of gaps, but it was totally black in there. I was beginning to be very happy that we were glowing.

We all took deep breaths…then stepped out of the trees, entering the thorns.

For the most part, we actually were able to avoid the huge tendrils. But there were still a bunch of smaller ones tangled up in here, blocking our way. And by smaller, I'm still talking pretty huge. We were fighting brambles the size of swords. It wasn't pretty.

At first, Goom had simply crashed through the thorns, clearing a path for us. But we quickly began to see that he was hurting. His fur was damp with blood in places, so we switched places, and Twig and Woodfish hacked away at the thorns to clear a path.

The going got really slow. These forests were vast, and we had traveled for another week with no end in sight. We managed to find water well enough—we just drained it out of the thorn creepers—but our food supplies were getting dangerously low now. We had to take lots of breaks to rest up, resting as many as a dozen times a day.

"This is hopeless," moaned Cowlquape eventually, as we stopped again to rest in a makeshift clearing, the thorns closing in on all sides. Twig and Woodfish were breathing heavily, Goom was panting even worse, and I was in the corner, trying to figure out the most private part of this clearing in which to take a leak. "We're lost in this terrible thorny place. We'll never find our way out."

Twig looked at him. "Woodfish is our guide, Cowlquape, and we must trust him. We are in his world now."

But Woodfish shook his head quickly, and said "This is merely the beginning of the Nightwoods. True waif country lies beyond the great Thorn Forests." He took a shuddering breath. "I thought I'd escaped it for good. It is an evil place."

An evil place? More evil than the Deepwoods? Suddenly I had to go to the bathroom a lot worse than I had a few seconds ago.

"You speak harshly of the place you were born and raised," Cowlquape said, frowning at Woodfish.

"Life in waif country is a short and brutal affair," Woodfish replied somberly. "A hand-to-mouth existence with none of the things you take for granted, Cowlquape. Hot meals, comfortable beds…" He grinned. "Ancient barkscrolls. Besides," Woodfish added, "I daresay I am not the only one to take little pride in his origins."

"And beyond the waif country?" Cowlquape asked slowly.

"The Dark Heart of the Nightwoods," replied Woodfish. "And perhaps Riverrise."

"_Perhaps_ Riverrise?" Cowlquape said quickly. "You mean you don't know?"

"I have never been to Riverrise," explained Woodfish. "Nor has any soul I've ever heard of. But you know that, Cowlquape. It is written in those barkscrolls you treasure. Riverrise has been lost, forgotten since the passing of Kobold the Wise. Yet it is said that it lies at the very heart of the Nightwoods."

"But you can't know that for sure, for all your dreaming and waif ways," Cowlquape wailed.

Believe it or not, however, I was much more confident than Cowlquape. After all the other times I had found legendary secrets on other territories, I had no doubt Riverrise was real. And Woodfish had not failed us so far, either—he had helped us locate all of Twig's missing crew.

"Don't let your courage fail you now, Cowlquape," said Twig, once more slashing at the thorns ahead. "After all, we can't abandon our search here. Woodfish did dream that the final member of the crew is at Riverrise waiting for us. It must exist—and now we must find it." He stepped forward, hacking away. "And wouldn't you love to actually see Riverrise—to walk where Kobold the Wise once walked?"

"Yes," Cowlquape muttered feebly. "Yes, I would."

More days and nights passed, of on-and-off crashing through the terrible thorns. We were all bruised, sweaty, and cut up. Slowly but surely, our food dwindled to nothing. Just when things were looking hopeless…

"Yes!" Twig cried out one day, making us all jump. Goom yodeled in pain as his head scratched a sharp barb dangling above. "I can see it. I can see the end of the thorn bushes."

At last, at long, long last, we were leaving the Thorn Forests! This was the best news I had heard in a long time.

"So far, so good," Twig gasped, hacking at the last of the creepers. And then, with a shout of triumph, he severed them. We stepped forward…

…into the most desolate, dark, inhospitable terrain I had ever seen in my life.

The ground beneath our feet was foul and marshy. Our glow illuminated the pitch-black surroundings, throwing many sickly, gnarled trees into sharp relief. There were mushrooms everywhere, too, growing on the ground and out of the trees. Some were as big as cars, some gave off a powerful stench, others dripped green fluid. The air around us was still and frigid.

Suddenly I wasn't quite so thrilled about having escaped the Thorn Forests.

"Where now, Woodfish?" Twig asked tentatively.

Woodfish crouched down, pressing his massive ears to the ground. Then, he pointed ahead and said, "The heart of the Nightwoods lies in that direction."

We may have no longer needed to clear a path through thorns, but our journey was no less unpleasant. There was no distinguishing night from day. Our footsteps echoed ominously in the total silence.

I'm happy to report that none of us starved to death. There was still food to be found in the Nightwoods, but it all tasted pretty disgusting. Goom would pick out pieces of bark or small clusters of fungus that had nutritional value. But it was all extremely rare, so we were no longer blessed with the privilege of waiting until the evening to forage. Instead, Goom kept his eyes peeled constantly, and every so often lumbered away into the trees, returning with a small bundle.

Water, however, was much harder to find. We had stored a lot of thorn water inside a few pouches we had taken from the woodtroll village, but we were rationing it rigorously. It wouldn't be too long before that ran out too.

Fortunately, this problem was solved a week after we entered the Nightwoods. We found a riverbed, and close inspection revealed a trickle of running water.

"Look at it," said Woodfish sadly, bending down to examine the tiny stream. "This used to be a raging torrent. No wonder we've seen no sign of life for so long."

"So long as it quenches my thirst, I don't mind how little there is," said Cowlquape eagerly, and he crouched down to slurp at the tiny trickle.

I, on the other hand, minded greatly. A water shortage in the Nightwoods? I couldn't explain why, but somehow this seemed significant to me. Call it Traveler intuition. Whatever. It made me uneasy. Nevertheless, I also had a burning thirst, so the instant Cowlquape was done, I took his place. I hadn't enjoyed water this much since the infrequent canteens during my warrior training in the scorching desert camp of Mooraj.

"The running water marks the beginning of true waif territory," Woodfish told Twig, his ears fluttering in agitation. "They are all around us. I can _hear_ them."

"I can't hear anything," Cowlquape said.

"Yet, they are here," Woodfish said harshly. "Waterwaifs. Flitterwaifs. Barkwaifs. Nightwaifs…Put your cloaks on, all of you. Raise the hoods over your heads to dim your glow. We must not draw attention to ourselves."

What? How were we supposed to see where we were going?

"It's so dark," Cowlquape protested, before I could say anything. "How will we find our way?"

"We follow the stream," Woodfish said simply. "She will lead us to the heart."

"But what if we lose one another?" squeaked Cowlquape, sounding more frightened than ever.

"We'll rope ourselves together," replied Twig. "Don't panic, Cowlquape."

"No, don't panic, whatever you do," Woodfish agreed hastily. "Waifs will be attracted by fearful thoughts."

What? Our _thoughts_ had to be calm too? How the hell was I supposed to internally hide my terror?

"Follow me. Stay close," instructed Woodfish. "And whatever voices you may hear, ignore them as best you can."

Voices? What was Woodfish talking about? The Nightwoods were deathly silent.

Once we were all fastened to each other, we pressed on, using the contours of the river basin to guide us on. With our glow concealed, the darkness was intense and pressing. Did I say dark? Dark doesn't cover it. This place was so impenetrably black that it actually seemed brighter with my eyes closed. I'm serious…the faint streaks burned into my eyes were lighter than the surrounding landscape. It would have been totally unnerving even without the threat of waif attacks.

But I couldn't act scared…or even feel scared, for that matter, or I'd endanger the whole party. So I tried to think of happy memories. I thought of all those times we used to hang out when we were kids, Mark, long before I knew I was a Traveler. I thought about my friendly rivalry with you, Courtney, and those few times I managed to kick your butt in sports (as well as some of my more humorous failures to do so.) I thought of my home in Stony Brook, and the life I once had. Anything that didn't have to do with being a Traveler, or with slogging through a pitch-black, freezing marsh, surrounded by a race of hostile mind-readers.

Unfortunately, I think I was the one that ended up attracting the waifs. In retrospect, I really goofed up. By stupidly broadcasting vivid thoughts of a vastly different territory, I managed to seriously arouse the interest of some unwelcome eavesdroppers. I might as well have been screaming about Halla and the territories at the top of my lungs.

Once the waifs had been aroused, however, they fortunately didn't seem too keen on learning more about me. That was the good news. The bad news was that this was because they saw us as a tasty snack.

A moment later, I realized what Woodfish had meant by ignoring voices. A waif was speaking inside our heads!

"_This way_," hissed a voice. "_It's over here_."

I turned to stare at a pair of large, glowing eyes staring directly at us. We had officially been noticed.

At once, there came a chorus of cajoling, pleading, seductive whispers, as clearly audible within our heads as if it was being spoken out loud.

"_Come this way. You'll be all right. Trust us—please trust us. If you're not too timid. If you're not too _scared_._"

"_Ignore them_," came another internal voice. It was Woodfish! Now he was whispering inside our heads as well. "_We must keep going._"

So far, so good. But the other waifs were cunning. They were now appealing to our own individual fears and desires. Twig and Cowlquape were looking around, unsure.

"_Follow us; follow. Kobold the Wise came this way. Let us show you, Cowlquape. Twig, Riverrise is so close. So close, Twig,_"

Cowlquape seemed very conflicted. This was getting bad. And now, they were appealing to me.

"_Pendragon, we know the turning point of First Edge_," they hissed, using what they had discovered about me. I perked up in shock. "_We know how you can save the territory. We can help you stop Saint Dane for good…we can help you return to Second Earth…to your old life…_"

I so desperately wanted to believe them. In that instant, logic and rational thought seemed to be slipping away. I accepted what the waifs were saying. Their offer was so wonderfully tempting! Who cared about Riverrise?

Just as I was about to release the rope, Woodfish's voice rang in our ears again, bringing me back to reality. "_Captain Twig! Do not listen to them, Cowlquape, Pendragon…_"

There were now glowing eyes everywhere we looked, peering at us intently.

"But they're waifs, Woodfish," Twig muttered dreamily. "Like your good self. Like Forficule, a nightwaif I once knew in Undertown…"

"_We are not in Undertown now_," Woodfish barked in our heads. "_These are _wild_ waifs, and they are hunting us. They're _hungry_, captain. They're…Sky above! Where _is_ Cowlquape?_"

"Has he gone?" Twig said out loud, scanning around in the darkness. I did too, but it was impossible to see anything other than the hundreds of probing waif eyes.

"_He has,_" Woodfish thought urgently, and I felt the pull of the rope as he crouched down to listen. "_Wait, I think I hear him. I…Oh, no!_"

"_This way, Cowlquape, that's right,_" I heard from all around us.

"Quick!" Woodfish cried, speaking out loud once again. "He's still close by. You stick with me, Captain Twig. Stay close, Goom and Pendragon."

We waited as Twig and Woodfish separated from the group. A few moments passed.

"Wuh!" Goom said urgently to me. I understood only too well what he wanted.

"No, Goom," I whispered. "We can't lose the trail. If we go to help them, we may never find the way."

But then, we heard a massive outbreak of screeching and flapping wings. Goom couldn't take it anymore. He dropped the rope and lumbered away into the darkness. I knew there was nothing else for it—I tore off after him.

We crashed through brambly, wild undergrowth for a few seconds, then burst out into a clearing filled with waifs. Unlike Woodfish, these waifs had smooth, black skin, leathery wings, and three prominent sharp teeth. With a roar, Goom swiped at the flock of waifs, and they scattered, hissing in alarm. But three of them remained…the ones who were attached to the unconscious figure of Cowlquape.

"Flitterwaifs," shuddered Woodfish, who was standing on the other side of the glade. "I might have known!"

"Get off him!" bellowed Twig, unsheathing his sword. He skewered the flitterwaif attached to Cowlquape's back, tossed it into the darkness, and sliced at the waif biting into his leg. It spat and mewled in rage, then flapped off into the branches above to join the others. He then raised his sword, preparing to strike the last flitterwaif, who was slurping at the fang holes it had created in Cowlquape's neck.

Twig hesitated, seemingly frightened of causing harm to his acolyte. Sensing this, the waif malevolently cast its thoughts in his direction, increasing his fears.

Twig suddenly lunged forward, decapitating the creature before he had a chance to think any harder about what he was doing. He exhaled in relief, bent down, and said, "Help me move him. Goom, can you carry him away from here?"

"Wuh," grunted Goom, reaching down and gently holding Cowlquape in his arms. But the waifs weren't going to give up that easily.

"_You can't escape._"

"_You'll never make it!_"

"_Leave the boy behind._"

As we turned to leave, several flitterwaifs dived down from the trees, slashing and biting. "_Aaargh!_" shrieked Woodfish, swiping and lashing out with his cutlass. Positioning themselves on either side of Goom, they fought furiously, as the waifs continued to screech, "_Give him up! Leave the boy. He's ours!_"

I thought fleetingly of trying to use my Traveler powers to convince the waifs to go away, but I decided I didn't dare risk it. There was no telling what might happen if Traveler abilities met waif abilities.

"What do we do, Woodfish?" Twig asked, his voice trembling. "We're never going to outrun them."

Woodfish then did something I didn't understand. He bent over and clumped together balls of mud on the ground, forming a big pile. He then reached towards Goom, ripped off Cowlquape's cloak, and draped it over the lump of mud.

"Right, let's get out of here," he muttered as softly as he could. "And as we leave, I want you all to _think_ about how sad it is that we have had to abandon Cowlquape to his fate."

Of course! Woodfish had created a diversion. But would it work?

"_Don't go. Not that way_," screeched the flitterwaifs in our heads. "_Leave the boy, or you'll be sorry!_"

We sprinted away into the blackness. I did my best to fill my head with a crushing feeling of remorse and sadness. I pretended to be fighting a desperate impulse to turn and run back to our abandoned companion. The waifs had to fall for it!

And they did.

As we tore off through the brambly trees, the flitterwaifs converged on the lump. Several seconds passed. We were already far away when we heard the shrieks of rage echoing through the Nightwoods.

"We've lost them," breathed Woodfish, skidding to a halt and wiping his forehead. "I hear water," he added, pressing his ear to the ground yet again. "We're very close."

"Close to what?" asked Twig.

"The Nightwoods' black heart."

We started running again, but stopped after a few more seconds. Cowlquape was coming to his senses.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" groaned Cowlquape miserably. "They said Kobold the Wise…they said…"

"It's all right, Cowlquape. You're safe now," Twig assured him. "Do you think you can walk?"

"I think so," Cowlquape muttered, as Goom lowered him onto the ground. "It's all my fault, Twig…"

"Don't be stupid, I was the one who attracted them in the first place," I said glumly.

"Quiet!" Woodfish cried. "I sense great danger. We're not out of waif country yet."

We grasped each other's shoulders and pressed on awkwardly. After a few minutes more of wandering through the darkness, we were suddenly greeted by another wall of staring waif eyes. Twig gasped.

"This way! Follow the sound of the water," shouted Woodfish. "And don't listen to the waifs!"

"_You'll never escape!_" shrieked the voices. "_You'll never get away!_"

"_Stay! Stay here with us…_"

"Twig!" wailed Cowlquape weakly. "I can't…"

"You must, Cowlquape!" cried Twig. "Just a little further…I can hear the water now."

"NO!" Woodfish disappeared with a scream.

"Woodfish!" yelled Twig in terror.

We all stopped just in time. We had reached the edge of a jagged boulder-strewn cliff. The glowing figure of Woodfish was bouncing down the steep slope, jerking like a ragdoll.

The waif voices grew louder. I heard the flapping of wings behind us, catching up.

"Wuh?" yodeled Goom in confusion.

"This can't be right," cried Cowlquape. "This can't be Riverrise!"

"We must go on!" replied Twig. "We must follow Woodfish."

Twig seized Cowlquape and leapt forwards, and Goom followed. There was nothing else for it. I jumped.

Behind us, the waifs screamed with rage, but I wasn't exactly celebrating our escape…seeing as how we were tumbling down the side of a freaking cliff!

"Aaaaiii!" I heard Cowlquape shriek.

The last time I had taken this kind of tumble, it had been when I was launched off the back of a sled on Denduron. I might have been a little tougher now than I had been back then, but this still hurt. A lot. I bounced and crashed and ricocheted off sharp rocks. I begged for it to end…for me to hit the ground and lose consciousness.

And all at once, I did.


	35. Journal 41, Part 7: First Edge

JOURNAL #41  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

One of the occupational hazards of being a Traveler is waking up to find that your body is an absolute wreck.

I have experienced this horrifying sensation many times since that fateful night that I left my house on Uncle Press's motorcycle. It happened in the aforementioned sled crash on Denduron. It happened on Zadaa, after Saint Dane took the form of a Ghee warrior and smashed me to pieces. And it happened on Ibara after I was stung senseless by a massive swarm of quig-bees.

And as I regained consciousness at the base of that cliff in the Nightwoods, I knew I was in for yet another hearty, good old-fashioned dose of mortal agony.

If the pain was any indication, I had broken both my legs and cracked some ribs. Besides that, I was covered in gashes, judging from the red smears all over the ground. With a terrible effort, I raised my head to see where I was.

We had come to rest on a barren, flat stretch of rock. There was a small pool of water nearby, fed by a trickle of water from somewhere far above. I glanced around and saw all the others, who looked just as terrible as I felt.

Cowlquape was the only one who was conscious. Moaning in pain, he was dragging himself towards the water. He had to be pretty thirsty to attempt to move at all, because he was a real mess. But the next moment, something happened that made no sense at all.

He lowered his head into the water and drank, and as he drank, his wounds started to vanish! What the heck was going on?

Twig suddenly jerked awake. "Cowlquape!" he gasped in terror. "Falling…falling…"

"Don't speak, Twig," Cowlquape said, now fully healed, as he stepped over to Twig and helped him upright. "Come with me to the pool, and drink."

Somehow, the water in this pool had some seriously powerful healing properties. I knew I had to get over there. Motivated by the thought of the healing water, I dragged myself forward with my arms.

Excruciating? You don't know excruciating until you have dragged a pair of busted femurs across a stretch of rock. If that water had been poison, I probably still would have dragged myself over there just to put an end to it. But it wasn't, and after traveling the most difficult ten feet of my entire life, I plunged my head beneath the surface.

It was an incredible feeling. The first gulp seemed to send a jolt of warmth flooding through my body. A few seconds later, the agony had been reduced to a dull ache, and after another moment it was gone completely. I drank and drank until my stomach was screaming for me to stop, by which time I was able to climb to my feet and gaze down at my reflection. None of my injuries remained.

"Where are we, the Fountain of Youth or something?" I said, as Woodfish and Goom also dipped their heads into the pool.

"The what?" asked Cowlquape.

"Never mind," I said quickly.

"What is this place?" Twig said, frowning. He gazed up at the trickle of water feeding the pool, which came from a massive rock face high above. I mean huge. This thing reached up into the clouds! It was pretty spectacular.

"We are at the foot of Riverrise," Cowlquape cried in delight. "This, this is her water!"

I was speechless. We had actually made it to the place in Cowlquape's barkscrolls! How cool was that?

"It's this way, Twig!" shouted Cowlquape, wading back into the pool and pointing. "Behind the waterfall—or what now remains of it. Yes, there!" He shouted. "Look, Twig!"

There was a big crack in the rock wall which was wide enough for us to enter. We all followed him into the pool, gazing at the opening.

"You see," Cowlquape continued. "And look here," he added, indicating a pair of symbols etched into the rock near the gap. "The trident and snake of…"

"Kobold the Wise," finished Twig. "But how did you know? Was this also in those precious barkscrolls of yours?"

Cowlquape grinned, and shook his head. "I dreamt it," he replied.

"Then let us follow your dream," Twig said. "Lead us, Cowlquape. Lead us to Riverrise!"

We all pulled ourselves out of the pool on the other side and stepped into the opening. In the beginning, it was pretty hard to climb up. We scrambled over rocky debris, and soon our newly healed skin was covered in small cuts and bruises. But then…

"It's getting easier here," Cowlquape reported from up ahead. "The path is firm—like steps."

Which is precisely what they turned out to be. Once we caught up with Cowlquape, it was to find a huge set of steps carved into the rock face, winding their way up the side of the massive rock formation.

"I am treading where _he_ trod," Cowlquape muttered in reverence. "I am walking in the footsteps of Kobold the Wise."

We all increased the pace. The steps went on and on, but we never grew tired. We were way too excited for that. For me, it went beyond finding the last crew member of the _Edgedancer_. Now that I knew Riverrise was real, I had a very strong suspicion that it was going to play a role in the turning point…and in Saint Dane's plans. The truth seemed closer than ever before.

Our surroundings grew lighter. The impenetrable blackness was lifting. And now the sky around us was a brilliant purplish red from a setting sun. Cowlquape and Twig suddenly hesitated.

"Listen to the water, Cowlquape," Twig said, indicating the steady but slow drip of water falling from far above. "It's drying up. And when the waters of Riverrise stop flowing…" he stopped, looking bewildered.

"Yes, Twig?" Cowlquape urged him.

"When the waters of Riverrise stop flowing…" Twig said again, and slapped his forehead in frustration. "Oh, Cowlquape, why can I hear my father speaking these words?"

Cloud Wolf mentioned Riverrise? This settled it. Riverrise officially had something to do with the turning point. It looked like we were in exactly the right place.

"I…I…" Twig continued, racking his brains in frustration. "No, it's no good. I just can't remember."

"Come on," Cowlquape said bracingly. "Perhaps the answer lies at Riverrise."

As we ascended, the freezing air of the Nightwoods gave way to balmy breezes. I had expected things would be even colder up here, like when you ascend in a hot-air balloon on Second Earth, but it wasn't anything like that. It was a real relief.

"We're above the clouds!" Cowlquape exclaimed. "And look!"

Above us, I could see something I hadn't expected at all. The tops of massive plants poking out over the highest point of the rock. Twig suddenly wheeled around and stared at a point in the distance. I did too and saw a massive shape flying through the air—a caterbird. Could it be the one that had led us into the weather vortex? It gazed at the mountaintops in our direction, stared for a second, then soared away.

And abruptly, we reached the top of the steps, to discover the most amazing place I had seen since arriving on First Edge.

"Riverrise," Cowlquape muttered shakily, sinking to his knees.

We stood on a tremendous outcrop of marble, looking at a gorgeous natural field of flowers, shrubs, and trees, ringed by elegant spires of rock. A huge, central point rose up from the center, and at its foot was a great basin of water. It was nearly empty, but the plants all around still blossomed with health. The trees bore massive, succulent-looking fruits, and the flowers were all manner of dazzling colors.

"It's a huge garden," gasped Cowlquape. "Look there," he said suddenly, pointing at a huge protruding spur of rock from which the remaining water in the pool was dripping. "That's where the water spills over into the pool below." We heard another solitary drip echoing in the silence. "This _is_ Riverrise!"

The sun vanished below the horizon, and the sky turned a magnificent crimson, the shadows lengthening visibly. Twig glanced at Woodfish.

"The Stone Pilot?" he asked. "Where is the Stone Pilot, Woodfish?"

Woodfish held up his hand, frowning. He gazed intently at the fluted marble spires near the edge of the spring, his ears quivering.

"What is it, Woodfish?" Twig said. "Do you hear someone…?"

He stopped speaking too. We all heard it. There was a rustling noise, and suddenly a figure emerged from behind a spire on the opposite side of the pool.

Oh, yeah. The figure was glowing.

As we drew closer, we saw a slim, pale-skinned girl with bright orange hair. Cowlquape's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Wuh-wuh?" grunted Goom amazedly.

"Twig?" Cowlquape said slowly. "Is this girl the Stone Pilot?"

Twig said nothing. He and the girl approached each other.

"Captain Twig?" she whispered.

"Maugin," muttered Twig. "It _is_ you."

"Yes, captain," cried Maugin, dashing forward and seizing Twig in a tight hug. Another drip sounded from the spur of rock as a drip fell into the clouds below. "I knew you would come for me," she said joyfully.

"Didn't I swear I would never abandon any of my crew?" grinned Twig. "You are the last, Maugin."

"The last?" Maugin repeated, letting go of Twig.

"Yes, Maugin."

A splash echoed from below.

Glancing shyly from Woodfish to Goom to me, Maugin said, "But where are the others? Tarp Hammelherd? Spooler?"

Twig stared at his feet. "Spooler is dead," he told her miserably. "But Tarp, Bogwitt, and Wingnut Sleet are waiting for us back in Sanctaphrax."

"In Sanctaphrax?" Maugin exclaimed, looking startled. "But are they all right?"

"They've been resting up in my study in the School of Light and Darkness," chuckled Twig. "Safe and sound."

"But, captain," Maugin said desperately. "Do you not remember what Cloud Wolf told you?"

My heart leapt. Maugin had her memory. And what was more, Twig had told her Cloud Wolf's words before the explosion! This meant that we were about to hear the turning point of First Edge!

But on the other hand, the tone of her voice boded very ill.

"Cloud Wolf?" Twig muttered, wide-eyed. "I…I don't remember, no."

"He told you what you must do," she said urgently. "On the _Stormchaser_, far out in open sky," she continued, attempting to jog Twig's memory. "Before the white storm struck…"

"_Stormchaser_? White storm?" Twig repeated blankly. "I don't remember anything. None of us do except Pendragon. Nothing at all, from the moment we entered the weather vortex…" he seized Maugin's hands. "But _you_ do. Because you were clothed in your heavy, hooded coat, the storm did not fog your memory…Tell me what happened, Maugin. Tell me what you remember."

Another drop splashed into the pool below. Maugin looked away from Twig, biting her lip.

"Tell me! I must know!" yelled Twig.

"Yes, tell him the thoughts in your head," Woodfish added, "Or I shall!"

"You leave me no choice," she breathed fearfully. She turned back to Twig. "With the caterbird gone—cut from its tethers by your own hand—I feared…"

"I cut the caterbird loose?" Twig interrupted, looking astonished.

Maugin gave a quick nod. "Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes," Twig said at once.

"…I feared we would never find the _Stormchaser_. Yet find it, we did, becalmed at the still center of the weather vortex. Your father, Cloud Wolf, was waiting for you there."

"My father," muttered Twig, his eyes widening. "He spoke to me."

I was speechless. Twig's memory was coming back!

"He told you that the Mother Storm—that mighty storm which first seeded the Edge with life—was returning."

Cowlquape looked eager. We shot glances at each other—we had both suspected the Mother Storm played a part in this for a long time.

"He explained how it would sweep in from open sky towards Riverrise, at the highest point of the Deepwoods, to rejuvenate the dying spring," Maugin explained.

I cast another glance at the pathetic drip of water. It was all starting to make sense.

"Yes, yes," Cowlquape added, "Just as it's written in the barkscrolls."

"Hush, Cowlquape," Twig said briskly, and touched his forehead thoughtfully. "But Sanctaphrax lies in its path. Yes, _now I remember_…Cloud Wolf…he told me to…to cut the great Anchor Chain, didn't he?"

"If the Mother Storm wastes her energy destroying Sanctaphrax," Maugin said, "she will never reach Riverrise to bring new life to her waters. Then the stagnant darkness at the black heart of the Nightwoods will spread out, until every inch of the Edge is swallowed up!"

My blood ran cold. This was a dramatic turning point, all right…one of the most dramatic I had seen in this war. It was the return of the Mother Storm—and the destruction of Sanctaphrax.

At least, this was the way it was meant to be. Clearly, Saint Dane had to be working his evil to _prevent_ Sanctaphrax from being unchained. This was just like First Earth, and the destruction of the _Hindenburg_…a terrible disaster which was necessary to ensure the well-being of the territory. Probably of three separate territories, if the name _First_ Edge was any guide.

At once, I understood Saint Dane's tantalizing hint. He was right: if only we _had_ known the turning point sooner, we could have saved First Edge right then and there, by severing the Anchor Chain.

But could I have had the stomach to do it? On First Earth, I had been unable to let the _Hindenburg_ blow up, and let thirty-six people die. If Gunny hadn't stepped in to ensure things played out the way they were supposed to, I would have been responsible for the destruction of all three of the Earth territories. But Sanctaphrax wasn't a zeppelin. It was a massive city populated by tens of thousands of people. Nothing that ever happened on Earth came close to the death and destruction that was supposed to play out here.

"Sky above," groaned Twig in horror. "What have I done? I was _there_, Maugin. In Sanctaphrax. I could have told them. The way our bodies glowed should have reminded me…Oh, if only I'd remembered what to do." He spun around. "We'll set off back at once. Maugin, you must come with us." But then, he suddenly went chalk white. "Maugin. Did I tell you _when_ this had to be done?"

Maugin shook her head.

"You had part of the story, Maugin," Twig said slowly. "And I needed to hear it to unlock my memory, and remember the rest…" he hesitated. "The Mother storm will return when…" he paused, and then said heavily, "…when the waters of Riverrise stop flowing…"

Maugin froze, looking terrified. She turned to the jutting lip of rock at the end of the garden. "Twig! Twig, listen!"

"What?" he said, frowning. "I can't hear anything."

"Exactly," Maugin said in a leaden voice. "It is silent."

"What do you mean? I…"

Twig stopped, and realized with horror what Maugin was talking about.

Riverrise was dry.

"The Riverrise spring has finally died." Maugin whispered. "It can only mean one thing…"

Twig's eyes were as round as saucers. "The Mother Storm is on her way. I remember everything now. She should reach here at dawn. But that will never happen. Instead, she will strike Sanctaphrax at the stroke of midnight, expending her energy uselessly—and the Edge will descend into darkness. I've failed," he cried. "I've failed Cloud Wolf. I've failed Sanctaphrax. I've failed the Edge. I've failed myself." He looked at me, and said, "I've failed as a Traveler."

I collapsed onto a flat rock. This was the end. The turning point would happen in a few hours, and the people of First Edge were going to make the wrong decision. They had no idea what was at stake. They had no idea what protecting Sanctaphrax would mean. And the few people who did know the truth were on the other side of the world, holed up in a forgotten garden.

Saint Dane was going to crush the Edge territories, and probably kill two Travelers in the process.

There was no hope.

Or at least, that's what I thought, until Woodfish spoke.

"Yet, perhaps there is a solution, after all," the waterwaif said, gazing at Maugin, frowning and narrowing his eyes. "I can read it in her thoughts."

"What?" Twig demanded at once. "What is she thinking, Woodfish?" He spun around to look at his Stone Pilot. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She didn't answer, merely averting her gaze.

"Maugin! Please!" begged Twig.

"Do you want _me_ to tell him?" Woodfish said to her.

Maugin gulped, tears in her eyes. "There's only one way of getting back to Sanctaphrax in time. But at terrible risk."

"By midnight?" said Twig, astonished. "How?"

"But it's madness," Maugin continued, staring daggers at Woodfish. "Just a foolish thought."

"Tell me!"

Maugin slowly turned back to Twig, opened her mouth, and said in a soft, trembling voice, "By sky-firing."

At once, Twig, Goom, and Cowlquape recoiled in terror. Whatever Maugin had just suggested, it must have been bad.

"What's sky-firing?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

"It's a punishment used by unscrupulous leaguesmen and sky pirates to get rid of would-be mutineers," answered Woodfish softly. "They tie the offending individual to a length of second-order wood—bloodoak or lufwood, usually—and set it ablaze. It shoots up like a rocket, taking the screaming occupant directly into open sky. A truly gruesome form of execution."

I felt sick. And very confused. What the hell did that have to do with anything? But then, I slowly started to understand what Maugin was suggesting. "No way," I muttered.

"I know it sounds insane, captain," Maugin went on. "But instead of launching a blazing tree trunk upwards, it could just be possible to calculate an angle of ascent that would take you in a wide arc over the Deepwoods and on to Undertown. But the risks are appalling. You could fall short and land in the Twilight Woods or the Mire, or overshoot Undertown entirely and disappear over the Edge itself. And even if, by some miracle, you did reach Undertown, the chances are you'd be a charred corpse when you hit the ground."

Twig stared at Maugin for a moment, and then said softly, "That's a risk I'm prepared to take."

"But, Twig. You heard what she said," protested Cowlquape. "It would be certain death!"

"I must try," Twig replied, looking grim and determined. "It'll be certain death for Sanctaphrax if I don't. And for every single creature in the Deepwoods if the river is not rejuvenated. I _must_ try."

"Let _me_ go in your place," Cowlquape said shakily, grabbing Twig's hand. "Let _me_ be sky-fired to Sanctaphrax. I am younger than you. Lighter. And what's the life of a failed apprentice compared with that of the finest sky pirate that ever lived? The life of an acolyte compared with that of a Traveler? And…" he continued hastily, before anyone could ask what he meant by that last sentence, "and you could tie a message to my back addressed to the Professor of Darkness, just in case I didn't make it back alive…"

"You are not a failed apprentice, Cowlquape," Twig said with a small smile. "You have served me well. I can't ask you to do this. It is my task."

"But Twig!" protested Cowlquape, tears in his eyes.

"Thank you," Twig interrupted, "but I won't hear another word on the matter…"

"And yet the idea of someone accompanying you is not a bad one," Maugin interjected, evidently thinking hard. "A stout tree should bear the weight of two passengers, and it would mean that if one blacked out, the other would still have a fighting chance. _I_ shall go with you, captain."

"You?" Cowlquape gasped.

"I am a Stone Pilot," Maugin said. "I have the knowledge and expertise. I should be the one to accompany Twig."

"I'm very touched," he said gently. "But I must go alone."

"But, captain!"

"I'm sorry, Maugin," Twig continued. "You and the rest of the crew have followed me faithfully for long enough. I risked all your lives by sailing into open sky. I've already asked too much of you. Give me your expertise, not your life."

Maugin grasped Twig's hand tenderly. "You have my life already."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I cut in, striding up to Twig and jabbing a finger in his chest. "You are _not_ leaving me here."

"But, Pendragon…"

"I have just as much stake in this as you do, Twig." I said so that the others couldn't hear. "I'm coming with you not as a crew member, but as the lead Traveler. We're both on this mission, together, and I'm not getting left behind."

Twig stared at me for a moment, and then said, "I understand, Pendragon. You may accompany me. It is not my place to tell you otherwise."

* * *

><p>This is where I'll end this journal. As I speak, Goom is chopping down a tree in the garden of Riverrise, which we're going to use to blast off. Maugin is preparing this meticulously…but still, this is gonna be really hairy.<p>

If we fail, we die.

I've seen a lot of terrible things on First Edge, but I also see hope for the future. I can only imagine what the other Edge territories are like, but I have to believe they are a step forward…and furthermore, I also have to believe that if Sanctaphrax isn't unchained, they _won't_ be a step forward any longer.

I can only hope that we find some way of minimizing the scale of the tragedy. If we succeed, some people are bound to die. The question is, how many? Might we have time to evacuate Sanctaphrax before we unchain it? More worryingly, will the academics go along with it? Sanctaphrax is their world, and they may not give it up without a fight.

But the scariest question of all is what would happen if everything succeeded, and it all came down to the wire. What if it's all up to me to unchain the city? In the heat of the moment, will I be able to look ahead and remember the greater good? Or will I freeze up like I did on First Earth all that time ago? I'd like to think I'm a stronger person than I was…but if stronger means being able to stand by idly as innocent people die, do I even _want_ to be able to do this?

Whichever way I look at it, Saint Dane has got the upper hand on this territory. In the tremendously unlikely event that we manage to save the territory, what will that mean for us?

It's times like this that I miss Uncle Press more than ever. He'd know what to do—I'm sure of it. I've just got to buckle down and ask myself what his course of action would be. It could be my only hope.

I really hope this journal isn't my last. It's pretty much the only think I can reasonably hope for…and even then, the odds are long.

Keep on the lookout.

END OF JOURNAL # 41


	36. Quillan, Part 1

**~ QUILLAN ~**

"I'm almost glad Bobby waited until after the war to give us these journals," said Courtney bitterly, scooting away from the crate she had been leaning on and pushing herself up to her feet. "At least this way, we know that Bobby lived through the ordeal. I would have died from fear for him otherwise."

"The question is," said Mark nervously, "did Bobby actually save First Edge? Or did he merely manage to escape just before it all went south?"

"The answer to that is waiting for us here on Quillan," said Press, gazing around once more at the stacks of crates. "This place doesn't seem to have changed much," he added.

"But the rest of Quillan definitely has," said Mark. "Let's go over what we know. It makes sense to brace ourselves for whatever we might find up there."

"Well, Elli Winter did give me a firsthand description of the Ravinia-controlled Quillan," said Press. "First off, the Blok Corporation is more powerful than ever. The Revival is dead, or at least too weak to pose any threat to the status quo. Ravinia has installed itself as the world government, selecting individuals to join the elite just as they do throughout all of Halla, but otherwise allowing Blok to operate unfettered."

"And the Quillan Games?" said Courtney.

"Gone," said Press. "The masses of Quillan are now so poor that nobody can wager. And the trustees have become too greedy to dole out anything to winners, either. In Second Earth terms, the trustees are now multi-trillionaires. Also, of course, Veego and LaBerge are gone, and they were unrivaled in the gaming field."

"Wait, back up," said Mark. "The masses have nothing to wager? I thought they could wager with their freedom."

"Exactly," said Press ominously. "Nobody _is_ free. According to Elli, the lower-sector wage has been reduced to five credits."

"Do I want to know how much that is in Second Earth money?" said Courtney.

"Less than a dollar," said Press. "The barest of essentials are nearly out of reach on such a salary. Even most of Blok's upper management has to live in squalor. Besides the Ravinians, only a couple hundred people on Quillan are able to live comfortably. It would really be cheaper for people not to go to work at all."

"So why do they?" said Mark.

"They don't have a choice," said Press. "They really are slaves now. Every morning at precisely 08:5:50, security dados sweep the apartment buildings and ship anyone they find to the tarz. The only other option is to report for duty."

"What sort of jobs are left?" Courtney asked.

"Not many," said Press. "Blok may officially be a retailer, but it does very little selling these days…the trustees shut down most of their branches, keeping only those which maintain their existence, and Ravinia's. Most people simply labor to keep them happy."

"So…" said Mark, "When we get to the surface, we're probably going to find a dead city?"

"Not exactly," said Press. "The city of Rune is still populated. But it is in heavy disrepair, except for the Blok building, and the Conclave of Ravinia. We'll definitely need to watch out for security dados, though."

Press strode off, headed for the exit, and Mark and Courtney followed. After a minute, they left the central storage facility and arrived in a smaller chamber full of forklifts. On the far wall was a rusty metal staircase that looked sort of like a fire escape. They climbed the stairs, the clanging of their footsteps echoing in the chamber, and then went through a door and along a long hallway. Mark and Courtney knew that this door led into a gigantic three-story video game arcade. Bobby had written that upbeat, electronic music had emanated from this door, audible from all the way back down in the warehouse. But there was no sound.

When they pushed open the door, they found the reason…and it didn't surprise them.

The arcade was dark, silent, and empty. They could vividly imagine it active, with deafening background music and a mass of flashing lights, but all of the cabinets and screens were dead. The whole place looked like it was falling apart…clearly it had been a long time since it had been open for business.

The three of them picked their way across the trash-strewn floor, Mark and Courtney following Press uneasily. A few moments later, they found the exit, which was boarded up. Press simply charged at the door and broke it down, splinters flying everywhere. Light flooded the doorway of the forgotten arcade, and they got their first look at the city of Rune.

It was almost exactly as Bobby had described it—except that it looked like the city was crumbling before their eyes.

Dark clouds hung over the city, and a light, chilly rain was falling. The boxy gray skyscrapers loomed over them, some of them well over a hundred stories tall. Most of the windows were smeared with grime; some were shattered. Very few of the windows had any light in them; the lights they did see flickered and sputtered as if people were using open flames, just like in the Lifelight pyramid. The sidewalks were crowded with people, but the roads were nearly empty. The cars they did see were all abandoned, and their windows were smashed out. Mark and Courtney remembered that some people in Rune rode Segway-style vehicles called "scoots", but they couldn't see a single one. The traffic signal strips above all the intersections were dead; not one of them glowed blue. Trash and sewage were piled everywhere.

What was more, a good portion of the Blok storefronts were shuttered and empty. Stores advertising FOOD and DRINK were still open for business, but looked very quiet.

The broadcast screens hung up on the sides of buildings still seemed to be active. But instead of displaying 3D geometrical shapes, they displayed the five-pointed star of Ravinia.

The people on the streets kept their heads down, shuffling unseeingly towards their destinations. None of them had any spirit, any sign of hope or happiness. Quillan had been utterly destroyed.

And there was one last detail of the city that struck Mark and Courtney as ominous. Security dados stood in the roads, positioned every fifty feet, dutifully monitoring the crowded sidewalks.

At that moment, a series of desperate shouting and pleading reached their ears. "No! Not my son! Please, you can't take him! I'll do anything!"

Mark, Courtney, and Press spun around to see four security dados marching along the center of the road, each one holding a limb of a young man. He was unconscious, and covered with black and blue marks. Stumbling after the dados was a wild-eyed woman, her face streaked with tears.

"He was sick," she begged the dados. "He would have infected his coworkers! All he needed was one day to recover! Please, have mercy! We'll make up the difference! We'll do anything!"

One of the dados spun around and gave the woman a stare so menacing that she stumbled backward and tripped, landing painfully on her back. The dado turned around, and they carted off the young man. The woman lay there on the street, curled up and crying. With great effort, Mark, Courtney, and Press averted their gaze from the heart-wrenching spectacle.

"What do we do?" Courtney whispered to Press. "Where do we start looking?"

"In the underground mall complex," said Press without a moment's hesitation. "It seems the ideal place to begin our search. We'll attempt to meet up with the remaining revivers."

"You think any are left?" said Mark skeptically.

"Yes and no," said Press with a sigh. "Do I believe there are still people who call themselves revivers, hiding out in the ancient malls? Yes. Do I believe they are actually working against Blok? No. They only remain where they are because they would be immediately carted off to the tarz if they showed their faces in Rune. Few, if any, have real hopes of reviving Quillan. They are little more than fugitives who have branded themselves with a noble name."

"What about you?" said Mark. "Do you believe there is hope for Quillan?"

Press didn't speak for a moment. He looked around at the crumbling city in silence.

"I know there is," said Press at last. "This is not the natural destiny of this world. One day, things will change. But that day may not come for hundreds of years, and in the meantime there will be untold suffering. Remember, though, we aren't here to trouble ourselves with Quillan's fate. It's First Edge that we've got to worry about."

"Do you know how to get into the malls?" said Mark. Press waved his hand dismissively at the question, and stepped out into the crowd.

Fighting through the mass of people was tricky for Mark and Courtney, but they never lost sight of Press. His posture made him stand out from the zombielike multitudes. Every so often they shot nervous glances at the security dados, but none of them ever looked twice at them. Their Third Earth clothes were plain and shabby enough to blend in with the frayed outfits of the citizens of Rune. Finally, Press turned and headed towards one of the tall gray buildings. Mark and Courtney could only guess how he had picked this building out from the thousands of others.

Once they entered, they realized that it was an apartment building. But like most of the buildings in Rune, it was in a state of advanced disrepair. Water damage formed large dark spots on the ceiling of the lobby, and the chairs looked ready to collapse. There was a large desk bearing the Blok logo, but nobody sat at it, dado or human. In fact, there was nobody in the lobby at all. The building was deathly silent. Either it had been abandoned, or all its residents were at work.

"See that?" Press said, pointing at the wall behind the desk. Upon closer inspection, Mark and Courtney realized that something had been bricked over. The bricks were painted like the rest of the wall, but the outline of the mortar was unmistakable.

"If we're lucky, the revivers already made a concealed opening here. Otherwise, we'll…yes, look!" Press had felt the wall, and a good-sized chunk collapsed in on itself. Press climbed through the dark hole, and Mark and Courtney hastened to follow.

A narrow hallway stood beyond, but none of them could quite see what lay at the end. They approached cautiously. Mark was about to take another footstep, when Press threw out an arm and caught him, nearly knocking him over.

"Stop!"

Mark peered ahead, and felt his insides turn to ice as he realized what he had nearly done. They were right on the edge of an empty elevator shaft, extending far, far down into oblivion. Falling would have hurt.

"Uh…" said Mark, "Now what?"

Press pointed at the dusty elevator cable, which was still in place. "We climb down."

"Great," Mark muttered glumly.

However, the climb turned out not to be nearly as difficult as he had feared. The cables were firm and squishy, very easy to cling to. Additionally, there wasn't a lot of slack, so they swayed very little on their way down. The biggest problem was that their surroundings swiftly grew pitch-black. They had no way of knowing when they were going to reach the ground. Every time Mark lowered his foot through the air, he expected to touch the bottom. But the elevator shaft kept going deeper and deeper. It took ten minutes before they finally touched down…by which time there was no light at all.

Mark looked around blindly, unable to see Courtney or Press or the walls. He raised his head and looked at the faint gray smudge of light that was the top of the shaft. "What I wouldn't give to have been on board the _Edgedancer_," he said. "I wouldn't mind glowing right about now."

The three of them laughed, having broken the tension.

"Failing in that, I at least wish we had managed to hold onto those triptyte hats from Denduron," said Courtney.

"Or your flashlight from Third Earth," said Mark.

"Yeah, I…hey, wait a minute…" Courtney's voice trailed away. They heard her fumbling around. A second later, light flooded the bottom of the shaft, spilling from something in Courtney's hand.

"You _do_ still have it!" said Mark in amazement.

"Acute observation, dork," grinned Courtney. "Seriously though, I feel pretty dumb. If Mark hadn't reminded me, we would have had to do this blind."

"Well, he _did_ remind you, so we'll worry no more about it," said Press. "Let's carry on."

They strode through silent, dark corridors, wandering without knowing exactly where they were headed. They knew they would come out in one of the forgotten underground malls beneath Rune, but had no clue how to navigate them.

Eventually, they saw natural light leaking from around the corner, and Courtney switched off her flashlight.

When they reached the end of the passage and turned, they were greeted with a predictably amazing and depressing sight. The three-story underground network of malls stood before them, illuminated by faint rays that leaked through the bricked-up skylights. They were surrounded on all sides by shuttered stores, mere shells of their former glory.

"Where should we search?" said Courtney.

"We should explore all the main areas," said Press. "But we may not find anyone…the revivers are likely to hide when they hear us coming."

They set off, peering into the grimy windows, on the alert for any sign of movement. They found none. After searching the mall for an hour, they had to conclude it was empty.

"No problem," said Press as they finally gave up their search. "This is one of dozens of underground malls, and they're all linked together. We'll just check the next one."

They had no more luck in the second mall. It was every bit as dusty, depressing and empty. Same with the third. But halfway through their search of the fourth mall, they found something out of the ordinary.

There was a person standing in the middle of the ground walkway, completely stationary, facing away from them. He was pretty short…not much taller than five feet. His head was completely bald. Oddly, he wore a frayed purple challenger uniform.

"Hello?" Mark said uncertainly.

The man spun around and looked at Mark, his face betraying no expression.

"Good afternoon," he said dully.

"Who are you?" said Courtney. "Are you a reviver?"

"No," said the man. "I am a dado."

Mark was staggered. "Y-you are?" he said in surprise.

"Yes," the man responded in a flat voice.

"You're not at all like the dados we're used to," said Courtney suspiciously. "The only dados I've seen are security creeps."

"There is little need for service dados such as myself anymore," said the dado. "Now that the gaming operations have ended."

"Oh," said Courtney. She surveyed the little mechanical man. She couldn't explain it, but she actually felt kind of sorry for it. She tried to tell herself that it was just a machine, but this one somehow seemed almost…well, almost human.

The dado then said something that completely blew them away. "Are you Mark Dimond, Courtney Chetwynde, and Press Tilton?"

They stared at the dado for a full ten seconds. Then, Mark stammered, "H-how do you know who we are?"

"Pendragon informed me you would be coming," replied the dado.

And then, suddenly, Courtney understood.

"Fourteen!" she cried.

"Yes," said the dado, nodding his bald head.

She ran to him and shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We know all about you."

"Pendragon spoke of me?" said Fourteen.

"He called you 'the only voice of sanity he had to cling to at the castle'," said Courtney. "Why are you dressed like a challenger?"

"When we parted, Pendragon had instructed me to wear something distinct so that he could tell me apart from the other service dados," said Fourteen. "I complied with his wish."

"Why are you acting like…you know, like an individual?" said Mark. "I didn't think that dados had the capacity to do that."

"I did not believe so either," said Fourteen. "I suppose you could say that Pendragon inspired me. I cannot explain why this is possible. Perhaps I am defective."

"Whatever is different about you, you're sure as hell not defective," said Courtney. "You rock."

"That is nice of you to say," said Fourteen.

"So," said Press, stepping forward and staring at the dado, "do you have a message for us?"

"Yes," Fourteen replied. "Pendragon wants me to tell you the location of a journal he wrote to you."

"I knew it!" said Courtney.

"Where is it?" said Mark.

Fourteen stared at them for a second, and then said, "You will find Pendragon's journal in the ruins of Mr. Pop."

Mark, Courtney, and Press didn't get a chance to react to this information. At that moment, there was an almighty explosion from above which made the ground tremble.

"Look out!" screamed Mark.

The bricked-over skylight had exploded. Fragments of glass and brick were raining down on their heads. They regained their wits quickly enough to avoid the worst of it, and dived through a hole in the wall, Courtney pulling Fourteen with her. Behind them, massive chunks of the ceiling thundered down. They staggered to their feet and looked around. They were in a store that had sold some kind of music recordings. They looked back at the pile of rubble to see that dozens of security dados were rappelling down into the mall, armed with guns, flamethrowers, and explosive barrels.

"What's going on?" shouted Courtney.

"I'll tell you what's going on," said Press. "The trustees must have decided to destroy the underground mall complex. Those dados are going to obliterate the last evidence of Quillan's past, and kill the remaining revivers…and we're going to be caught in the carnage."


	37. Quillan, Part 2

**~ QUILLAN ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

"We've gotta stop them!" shouted Courtney.

"And how are we going to do that?" said Press. Courtney hung her head in defeat.

"We can't possibly hope to save the underground malls. All we can do is get out of here," Press said darkly. "Once those dados get to work, things will get really ugly."

"Okay, let's go," said Mark. "We'll exit through that hole in the wall and get away as fast as we can. Fourteen, do you think you can keep up?"

"Yes," said Fourteen. "But you do not have to save me. I am just a dado…an _obsolete_ dado."

"We know we don't have to save you," said Courtney, smiling at the robot. "We _want_ to save you."

"If I hinder you in any way," said Fourteen, "do not hesitate to leave me behind. I am not worth it."

"We'll decide whether it's worth it," said Courtney. "All right…now!"

They all jumped back out of the window, to see that the security dados were placing each barrel outside of a steel shutter. They were going to blast open a path to the stores so the destruction could begin.

"Stay away from the shutters!" bellowed Press.

At that moment, the barrels started to explode. Each one erupted with a fiery blast that shook the entire mall. The air throbbed with heat.

"How do we get out?" screamed Courtney, as several flamethrower-toting dados rushed past.

"I can direct you to the closest exit," said Fourteen.

"I knew bringing you with us was the right idea," said Courtney. "Lead on!"

Blue-white flames leapt from a deserted food court. The dados roasted tables and chairs, and blasted counters to smithereens.

Fourteen jogged purposefully through the chaos, Mark, Courtney, and Press hot on his heels. Three more barrels exploded, opening up jagged fissures in the ground. They had to find the exit soon, or they would be history. Methodically destroyed history.

"The exit is this way," Fourteen called out. "It leads to the abandoned subway system."

Through the billowing smoke, the three of them could see the outline of Fourteen turning left and heading for the wall. They followed, and soon emerged into another dark passage.

"I must warn you," cautioned the dado, "it is very dark in here."

"Not to worry," said Courtney, whipping out her flashlight and illuminating the passage ahead.

"You are very resourceful," said Fourteen. "Very well, we shall continue on."

Mark looked back the way they had come, and saw only flames and falling rock. A lump rose in his throat. The forgotten mall complex had been the only remaining place on Quillan to reveal anything about life before Blok…the only remaining place that the revivers could be safe. And it was all falling to pieces. He knew that the security dados would be carrying out identical assaults on every mall underneath Rune. When Mr. Pop had been obliterated, people all throughout Quillan had appreciated what they had lost. But nobody would ever know about the destruction of this last repository of forgotten greatness.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a set of stairs, which led to a set of double doors. When they swung the doors open, they found themselves in a pitch-black, abandoned subway station. Mark and Courtney vividly remembered the flume gate on Second Earth which was built into the subway tunnel. Only here, the entire train system was shut down. But they had no more time to reflect on the state of Quillan…they had to make their escape.

"My time in the underground has taught me a great deal about Rune's past," said Fourteen. "This was a stop for the Red Line. It traveled in a big loop, passing through much of downtown and some areas in the east that used to be suburban neighborhoods. We can travel on foot from station to station and surface when we are far away from the main city."

"Sounds like a plan," said Press gratefully. "All right, let's…"

But at that moment, there came a crash. A shadow moved across the dead escalator on the adjacent wall, and suddenly a security dado leapt out at them.

"They followed us!" cried Mark.

Press rushed forward as the dado raised its gun, and knocked the weapon out of its hand. He then gave it a kick in the chest, sending it sprawling. Fourteen was on it in a flash.

"I know how we dados work," he said, as he and Press wrestled the robot to the floor. "There is an easy way to deactivate it. Turn it on its back."

Press obliged, and Fourteen ran his finger along the other dado's spine. A compartment opened up in the small of its back, revealing a tangle of moving parts and wires. Fourteen made one swift movement, and the dado suddenly stopped moving.

"How did you do that?" Courtney demanded.

Fourteen stepped back and pointed to a thin blue wire which had been severed.

"It is a critical weak point in the entire line of security dados," explained Fourteen. "Of course, you have to be able to overpower it and flip it onto its back."

Press, Mark, and Courtney sat down on the edge of the filthy platform, the flashlight casting light over the rusted train tracks below. "Well, we may be safe for now," said Mark. "But what do we do next?"

"We've got to go to the wreckage of Mr. Pop," said Press at once. "That's where the last journal from First Edge awaits us."

"Yes, but we don't know where that is!" said Courtney. "The revivers kept it a secret."

"It does not matter," said Fourteen. "Finding it will be easy."

"What do you mean?" said Mark, spinning around to look at the dado.

Fourteen pointed at the deactivated robot on the floor. "This dado has been in service a long time," he said. "I can tell from the product sequence inside the chest cavity. It was online back when Pendragon won the Grand X."

"So?" said Mark.

"So it should have a record of the loop that drew the dados to the warehouse," said Fourteen. "Assuming that loop was not destroyed, and is still lying in the ruins, I can load its data into my banks and track it."

"Seriously?" said Courtney excitedly. "You can do that?"

"Yes," said Fourteen. "I can. But there is one problem."

"What is that?" said Mark nervously.

"Anyone who hijacks information from a fallen dado is guilty of corporate espionage," said Fourteen. "It is the most severely punished crime on Quillan. In the trustees' eyes it is worse than assault, murder, or terrorism. There are security mechanisms installed in dados which will alert the police the moment their secrets are compromised. If I do this, the authorities will not rest until you have been hunted down and destroyed."

"That's not a problem," said Press at once. "Once we collect this journal, we're leaving. And I guarantee the trustees won't find us where we're going."

Fourteen paused, and then said, "If you are sure, I will do it."

All three of them nodded.

Fourteen bent down and stuck his hand into the other dado's compartment. He waited a few seconds, and then said, "I am finished."

At once, a red light inside the other dado glowed red, and a harsh buzzer sounded.

"What's that?" said Mark.

"The security alarm," said Fourteen. "The authorities already know what we have done. We should go."

"Did it work?" said Courtney. "Can you lead us to Mr. Pop?"

"Yes," said Fourteen, pointing down the right tunnel of the subway. "I am acquiring a faint signal from that direction."

They all jumped down off the platform and scurried into the tunnel. After a few minutes of walking, they arrived at another identical station.

"Do we surface now?" said Mark.

"No," said Fourteen. "We must continue. We are still a long way from our destination."

They kept walking for ages, passing more stations. Five…six…seven…soon they lost count. They didn't ask Fourteen how much longer they had to go. They merely followed the little dado as he strode through the darkness.

At last, Fourteen came to a stop. Mark nearly walked into him. "The signal is very strong now," said Fourteen. "We should surface here."

They climbed the stationary escalator and wrenched their way through a boarded-up entrance to find themselves in completely unfamiliar surroundings. At one time, this had probably been a wealthy suburban street lined with pretty houses and well-manicured lawns, but those days were long gone.

The streets were covered in a spiderweb of cracks. A few of the bigger potholes were overgrown with weeds. Most of the driveways led to empty lots; a few houses remained, but they looked ready to fall down, their sides pitted and scarred, paint scratched away by generations of neglect. Trees which had once been dutifully pruned now formed a sprawling green canopy; grass stood in uneven tangles; hedges blocked the rotting doorways and obscured the broken windows.

"Perhaps what's left of the revival can hide out here," said Courtney hopefully.

"I'd be astonished if there _was_ anything left," said Press somberly.

"We are close," said Fourteen. "I would say it is a couple of streets away."

And then, all at once, they saw it.

They were staring at a neighborhood block that was consisted entirely of splintered, charred wreckage. Clearly a large building had stood here.

"Mr. Pop?" said Courtney faintly.

Fourteen nodded.

Courtney dashed across the street to the rubble and began sifting through it. Mark joined her. They both desperately pulled aside chunks of wood and metal, hoping to see anything that might have survived. But they found nothing. All that remained were shards of glass, blackened scraps of paper, and pieces of plastic melted into unrecognizable blobs. They knew that this wasn't why they were there—knew that it had been hopeless all along—but they couldn't help the burning tears that trickled down their cheeks. This place had been Quillan's best hope of salvation, and there was nothing left of it.

Press strode over to them and put his hands on their shoulders. "I know," he said softly. "It's painful for me too. But perhaps this will cheer you up a little."

He pointed at something lying on a pile of shattered chunks of marble. Mark and Courtney looked up…to see a familiar-looking jumble of scrolls.

They didn't have time to register their relief, however, before the drone of helicopter blades distracted them. They looked up to see three armored choppers bearing down on them, each displaying the Blok logo.

"They have found us," said Fourteen.


	38. Quillan, Part 3

**~ QUILLAN ~**  
>(Continued)<p>

Press snapped back into action. "Grab the journal!" he roared, dashing towards the pile of marble.

Mark and Courtney sprinted after him. Now that the jig was up, all they could do was seize the barkscrolls and return to Earth. But they had mere seconds left…the chopper in the center was taking aim with a rocket launcher.

Press threw out an arm and scooped up the barkscrolls…just as the rocket fired. They were in exactly the wrong place.

But at that moment, Fourteen came from out of nowhere and knocked them flying. The dado barely had time to stagger to his feet and start running himself, as the pile of marble exploded in a fireball. And unfortunately, his luck ran out.

A large chunk of marble was spat out of the explosion and slammed with tremendous force into Fourteen's back. His face was incapable of expressing pain or shock—perhaps he was incapable of even feeling it—but he jerked forward, arms flailing, and lay face down, twitching. Courtney cried out in fear. Fourteen's challenger shirt was ripped, and they could see a huge dent below his right arm where the rubble had hit him.

"Get us out of here!" shouted Mark. "Back to Earth!"

Press grabbed hold of Mark and Courtney…just as Courtney reached out grabbed hold of Fourteen. Press stared at her for a second, then nodded. They all took a deep breath, and stepped out of the ruin of Mr. Pop…into the ruin of the New York City Zoo.

Mark and Courtney had never thought they would be glad to see the place.

"We did it," gasped Mark.

But Courtney didn't answer him. She was kneeling beside Fourteen, who was lying on his back, staring up at her. It was an odd feeling. As a dado, Fourteen did not bear many of the hallmarks of a dying person. His eyes did not appear glazed or unfocused, his breathing was not labored, and his face showed neither pain nor peace. But he was making involuntary twitching movements, and awful grating noises could be heard from inside him as damaged parts jerked uselessly. And without quite understanding how, Mark and Courtney knew that he was beyond repair.

"I do not know where this is," said Fourteen. "Where did we go? Where are the assault helicopters?"

"We're safe," said Courtney, holding back tears. "Thanks to you."

"I did what was necessary," said Fourteen. "Your lives are worth far more than my continued operation. I am proud to have served you, and Pendragon."

And then, Fourteen fell silent and still. He had shut down. No, he had _died_. He may have been a machine, but he had had a soul. He had cared about the world in a way that no other dado did. Mark and Courtney couldn't begin to guess how it was possible, but there had been a spark of compassion in him.

They spent the next few hours burying him, digging a simple grave in the ruins of an old tiger exhibit.

Once the dado had been dropped in and the grave filled, they stared down at the spot. "We need to mark it," said Courtney.

"But how?" said Press.

Suddenly, Mark jumped to his feet. "I have an idea," he said. "Stay here. I'll be back in a bit."

He tore off down the streets of New York City, heading for a place he knew. After several minutes of running, he found it. The street with the entrance to the underground passage where he had found the first journal. His eyes alighted on the street sign. He grasped the pole, then started tugging and twisting, grunting with exertion, until finally it came free of the dirt it had been standing in.

He arrived back at the zoo, panting. "What's that?" said Courtney in confusion. In answer, Mark held up the street sign for everyone to see.

FOURTEENTH ST.

Then, Mark took the sign, placed it flat on the ground, stepped on the edge with his feet, and wrenched it upwards. Part of it broke off. He held it up again.

FOURTEEN.

Courtney's face split in a wide grin. "You really are something."

Mark winked and said, "Bobby always chose his friends well." The two of them laughed and hugged.

They drove the pole deep into the soil, so that the sign itself was only a foot or so above the ground. They stepped back and admired their handiwork. "Not too fancy…but it'll do," said Mark.

"And with that," said Press, "I think it's time to read the last section of Bobby's adventures on First Edge."


	39. Journal 42, Part 1: First Edge

JOURNAL #42

FIRST EDGE

Déjà vu.

It's a feeling we've all had a hundred times…the unsettling suspicion that the exact same thing happened to us at some point in the past. It's beyond creepy most of the time. I'm feeling it now, and it's not a good thing. Once again, I find myself questioning whether I'm really worthy of being the lead Traveler. My brain is in a bit of a better place than it has been recently, but I've still had to question a lot of what it means to fight for Halla.

I suppose I should count myself lucky I lived through this experience. In fact, things could have been a bazillion times worse. But I still can't get over one undeniable fact: Saint Dane is just as capable of manipulating me as he ever was. This time, his hand was deeper in the events on this territory than I could have possibly imagined. And after all the time I've spent fighting this war, that's saying something.

Anyway, when I last left off, we were in Riverrise, and Twig and I were preparing to be launched all the way back to Undertown on a burning tree trunk. I won't deny, I was terrified of the idea. I didn't like to think how fast this thing would have to fly to send us all the way across First Edge. And the fact that our method of transportation was a modified version of a gruesome brand of execution didn't do much for my nerves either.

Even if all went well, what were we supposed to do when we landed back in Undertown? Somehow convince the Sanctaphrax academics to let us unchain their city? Or were we going to have to forcefully release Sanctaphrax? That thought scared me for a couple of reasons. First of all, it would mean the death of every last person in the city. But even worse, if that's possible, it wouldn't feel at all like we were beating Saint Dane…instead of convincing the inhabitants of First Edge to do what was right, we would be making the decision for them. Would we then be any better than Saint Dane? Our mantra was to give the beings of Halla the right to choose their own destinies. Was it worth breaking that rule just to save a territory?

I couldn't help but feel that if the answer to that question was anything other than "absolutely not", we would be handing Saint Dane his final victory. We would be conceding that he was right. And I couldn't let that happen.

While I was busy finishing my last journal, the others were exploring the garden, looking for a suitable tree. They finally chose an ancient, silvery tree that was growing right next to the spring.

"It seems almost a shame to cut down such a beautiful tree," Cowlquape was saying. "I wonder how long it has stood here, drinking the waters of Riverrise. Why, Kobold the Wise might himself have sat in its shade."

"It's a fine choice, captain," Maugin said to Twig. "It'll burn long and bright."

"Let's get to work," said Twig urgently. "Time is running out. The Mother Storm is on her way—and midnight is drawing closer and closer over Sanctaphrax."

Goom quickly brought down the tree with a few blows from the woodtroll axe. Showers of bark rained down on us as the tree creaked and groaned, then crashed to the ground. The banderbear then stripped the branches easily, while the rest of us used them to set up a crude launching ramp. Maugin oversaw the whole thing, making sure the angle was perfect.

"We must align the ramp with the east star, for there lies Sanctaphrax," Maugin instructed us. "And angle it carefully. The flight's path must not be too high, or you'll never return to earth."

Or return to First Edge. Whatever.

"But how can you possibly judge the distance?" said Cowlquape.

"I can't," Maugin said bluntly. "But I was a Stone Pilot before you were born. Flight is my only trade. It's all I know. I must use all my experience—though even then it only comes down to making a good guess."

How's that for inspiring confidence? This was more nerve-wracking than anything I had ever done—even competing in the Grand X on Quillan.

"Twig, Pendragon, you will have to keep your wits about yourselves. We'll rope you to the very tip of the trunk with slip-knots that you can pull to release yourself when Undertown appears beneath you."

"I understand," Twig said.

Wait, what? Release ourselves when Undertown appears beneath us? Wouldn't we be thousands of feet in the air? Then I remembered the strange device strapped to the backs of all sky pirates…"parawings". It looked as though we were going to have to use them to get to safety.

The sky was growing darker. It was time to go.

We placed the log on the ramp, angled it as Maugin instructed, and piled a bunch of smaller branches at the base. Woodfish stood there, ready to ignite the pile. She then had the two of us step forward and cover ourselves in the mud around the base of the pool. It was kind of gross, but I thought I knew why we had to do it. She shortly confirmed my guess.

"The mud will protect you from the intense heat from the flames. And take this," she said quickly, giving Twig a small bottle. "It contains the restorative water of Riverrise—though, Sky willing, you will not have to use it."

I was desperate for it to start. Waiting was torture.

We then got lashed to the bottom of the huge trunk, secured with an intricate web of knots. I hoped they would hold. I was hoping a lot of things…the number one hope being that this would all turn out to be a really weird nightmare.

I guess that was too much to hope for.

"Wait for my signal," Maugin commanded Woodfish. "Light those leafy branches first, exactly at the places I point out."

"Stop!" Cowlquape screamed suddenly. He was dashing towards the log, caked in mud. "I can't stay behind," he yelled. "I can't!"

He scrambled up the side of the trunk, towards the place where Twig and I were fastened in.

"We don't have time for this!" shouted Twig.

"Then move over, Twig," Cowlquape demanded. "Maugin, tie me into place. You said yourself that two stand a better chance than one…surely three stand a better chance than two."

"You would really do this for Sanctaphrax?" Twig said. "Even though it could mean death?"

"Not for Sanctaphrax," Cowlquape replied. "For you, Twig. For Kobold the Wise." He smiled. "And for the Travelers."

Twig looked back at Maugin. "Do as he says."

Maugin hastily secured Cowlquape in place. We looked down at Goom, Maugin, and Woodfish.

"Wuh-wuh, T-wuh-g!" Goom yodeled.

"My dreams will go with you," added Woodfish. He bent down, and lit the branches as Maugin had said. Flames burst forth, licking the underside of the trunk. A roaring sound filled our ears.

"I will be back!" bellowed Twig.

The trunk hissed, then began to vibrate alarmingly. My heart pounded. Any second now…

"WHOOOOOAAAAAA!"

I screamed in terror as the burning log wrenched itself free and hurled itself into the sky. The ground dropped out from beneath us alarmingly—within a few seconds, we were whooshing on at terrifying speed.

We were heading back to Undertown…alive or dead.


	40. Journal 42, Part 2: First Edge

JOURNAL #42  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

Fast? That little, innocent-sounding word is laughably insufficient to describe our journey.

We must have broken the sound barrier by a factor of three or four, at least. And that was when we were just getting started…we gathered speed with altitude. Any Deepwoods residents who looked up and saw us flying across the sky would have heard a sonic boom. At this speed, we could have gone straight around Earth in a few minutes…and it looked like it would take about that long to reach our destination as well.

The freezing air whipping past us battled with the flames slowly drawing nearer to our feet. The pressure was almost unbearable. I looked down and opened my eyes a crack to see that we were flying horizontally, over the Deepwoods. We were way too fast to see individual trees…it was all a huge green blur.

The cold of the wind was losing out. The flames were halfway up the trunk now, and it was slowly evaporating the protective moisture of the Riverrise mud. Soon we were gonna get cooked.

"Don't give up now," I heard Twig whisper. "Keep going…"

The moon was glowing straight ahead of us. As we slowly began to descend back through the air, and the flames grew unbearable, the trees abruptly ended, giving way to a bleached expanse of mud. The Mire. And now, the lights of Undertown and Sanctaphrax came into view, gleaming ahead. We had made it.

But we weren't slowing down. We were too high up. In a few more moments, we would overshoot Undertown and be lost in open sky! We had to time our ejection just right. I hoped I would be able to handle a crash course in parawing use.

The buildings flashed past below us. I saw the winding riverbed that snaked through the city, which was now bone dry. Cowlquape suddenly howled in agony as the flames reached us.

"Hold on!" Twig gasped hoarsely. A few seconds later, he yelled, "Now! Pull the ropes!"

Without a moment's hesitation, I yanked on the cords, and dropped away from the blazing log. The wings on my back flapped open, and I held them out rigidly, my arms fixed in place. As it turned out, that was precisely the right thing to do.

This was nothing like a parachute descent. This was more like hang gliding, but with a much more sensitive apparatus. The slightest gust sent me whooshing this way and that. I quickly managed to right myself, and looked around for Twig and Cowlquape.

There was no sign of them.

Frantically, I looked up at the blazing log and saw Twig struggling with Cowlquape. I realized that he had passed out. This wasn't good. If Twig didn't come up with something soon, they'd both be goners.

Then, I saw Twig draw his knife and cut all of the cords binding the two of them to the tree trunk. They both fell out of the sky, and the wind expanded their parawings. I expected Cowlquape's wings to crumple any second, but the jolt of cold air seemed to have woken him up.

"How do I steer these things?" I heard Cowlquape cry out.

"Don't even try. You're doing fine," Twig called back reassuringly. "Just don't make any sudden movements!"

At that point, however, I couldn't hear any more. The wind was taking me in a different direction from Twig and Cowlquape. I was heading straight for the dry riverbed near the Western Quays. I was dropping faster and faster. Taking care to keep upright, I bent my knees to soften the blow. I landed with a bone-jarring thud right in the middle of the riverbed.

I had made it back to Undertown, alive! But where were Twig and Cowlquape? I had to find them again before I made any decisions. It looked like they were descending towards the Stone Gardens…I had to try to get there and meet up with them.

I gazed up at the sky, and saw a roiling mass of purple cloudbanks filling one half of the sky. The Mother Storm. I wished I had a watch, but I knew it didn't matter. Time was running short, and we had to form a plan as soon as possible.

I sprinted across the riverbed and up the shallow slope towards the central promenade of the Western Quays. The going was tough, because the deep mud around me was sticky. I skirted around the trash littered here and there, and the promenade slowly grew nearer and nearer. At last, I was able to clamber up onto the boardwalk, and I glanced around hopelessly.

I had no idea where to go or what to do.

Twig and Cowlquape might be somewhere in the Stone Gardens, but by the time I got there, they might be somewhere else. I would have no chance of navigating Undertown…the city was so huge.

It was then that I got a crazy idea.

I dashed down the promenade, staring at jetty after jetty, looking at all the outlines of the sky ships. Nearly all of them were securely docked and tied up; no one wanted to fly with this frightening storm approaching fast. I had to see whether it was there. If it wasn't, or if it was deserted, my plan would be done right then and there. The wind was starting to kick up. A massive, jagged bolt of bright blue lightning flashed, striking the Stone Gardens. I saw a flock of those giant white birds rising into the air near the point where it had hit, shrieking, heading straight for the gleaming towers of Sanctaphrax far away.

And then I saw something else…something that made my heart leap. The silhouette of a familiar stout sky ship was berthed at a jetty in the middle of the promenade. The _Skyraider_. Perhaps my plan was going to work after all. I tore down the jetty, shielding my face against the blasts of air coming from the direction of the oncoming mass of clouds. Time was running out fast.

I turned and dashed across the gangplank onto the deck of the familiar ship. I never thought I'd set foot on it again. I dashed over to the stout aftcastle and pounded on the door. "Hello!" I shouted. "Is anyone there?"

After a few seconds of hammering on the door, it swung forwards. Teasel, the wizened mobgnome, stood there, holding a candle and looking at me with comical confusion.

"You!" he wheezed. "How…how did…what are you doing here?"

"There isn't time to explain," I gasped. "The rest of the crew. Are they on board?"

"Yes," Teasel said hesitantly. "We were all just securing the _Skyraider_ for the night before retiring to our rooms at the Running Tilder Inn…but why?"

"Teasel, I need you guys to do me a huge favor," I said quickly. "Twig and Cowlquape are somewhere out here, possibly near the Stone Gardens. Can you fly low over the city and have your lookout find them?"

"What?" Teasel said incredulously. "But there's a storm brewing!"

"Exactly," I said. "That's why it's so important we find them, and find them fast."

Teasel stared at me for a moment, looking scared and confused. "Trust me," I said, reaching out and grabbing his wizened hand. "This is only a small danger compared to what might be coming. Please get this ship in the air."

Teasel stared at me, and the tension seemed to leave his body. Sweet. Score another one for our Traveler powers.

"We can be ready in a few minutes," he said importantly.

He shortly alerted the rest of the crew to the mission, and soon the ship's sails were raised and billowing. Jervis the gnokgoblin uneasily took the helm.

"Can you fly this thing?" I called out to him.

"I had the controls the whole time we were flying back to Undertown," he shouted back in a quavering voice. "It was touch and go for a while, but I think I've got the hang of it now. But it was one of them slaves who tended the flight-rock, so unless you can find us a stone pilot, we're not gonna be able to do this."

I hesitated for a moment, and then called out, "I'll do it."

Yeah, I know, a dumb idea. But I had watched Maugin during our trip out into open sky, so I kind of knew how it worked. Hopefully this would be a short flight…but not as a result of my crashing the ship.

The ship leapt into the air, and I stood on the flight-rock platform. To my left was a big set of bellows, and to my right was a line of metal rods. I knew that the flight-rock was heated by pumping the bellows and cooled by inserting the rods. The trick was doing it delicately.

Rain was starting to fall, thick and fast. Through the mist, I could see the dark outlines of the Undertown buildings…of the leaguesmen's mansions and palaces, the marketplaces, the sky shipyards with their massive wooden cradles and construction equipment, the foundries and forges belching smoke…I only hoped the lookout in the caternest above me had a good enough eye to pick out Twig and Cowlquape.

I glanced towards Anchor Chain Square and saw something that made my heart leap. Academics were descending in droves from the hanging-baskets, crowding the surrounding space. It looked as though an evacuation had been ordered. Could it be that they knew what had to happen? Even if they didn't, their removal from Sanctaphrax was good. It would minimize the death toll.

"Pendragon!" screamed Jervis from the helm. "Pull up! _Pull up_!"

I glanced around and saw with horror that the _Skyraider_ was heading straight towards the glass-walled upper chambers of the Leagues' Palace. Immediately I seized two cooling rods and jammed them into the porous surface of the flight-rock. At once it whistled and strained in its cradle, and the _Skyraider_ shot upwards, missing the building by a few feet.

The winds grew fiercer as the Mother Storm drew closer. The _Skyraider_ bucked and lurched alarmingly, and Teasel was dashing back and forth, untangling the sail ropes. I was guessing we had less than ten minutes left. Things were looking hopeless. But then…

"There they are!" cried the lookout, his voice barely audible over the squalling winds. "Down there, in the street below!" I looked where he was pointing, and saw two figures sprinting beneath us. They didn't seem to notice the familiar sky ship sailing above.

"I'm taking us down!" I screamed to Jervis. "Make sure we don't hit any buildings!"

Jervis hastily repositioned the _Skyraider_ as I pumped the bellows for all I was worth. The flight-rock glowed red in the darkness, and the sky ship dropped quickly. I hastily let up…if we kept sinking, we'd have crashed into the ground, and crushed Twig and Cowlquape. I dropped to the deck and rushed over to the balustrade, looking down at the dark street.

Through the faint glow of oil lamps lining the boulevard, I saw that Twig and Cowlquape had finally come to a halt, noticing the dark shadow looming over them. Twig gazed up at the massive ship floating above. "What in Sky's name…?" he said.

Then, he caught sight of me peering down at him, and his eyes widened. "Pendragon! What…?"

"It was a long shot, I know!" I called down. "But I figured this was the best way to find you. What happened?"

"We landed in the Stone Gardens," he said. "I alerted the leader of the white ravens to what was going on, and he sent my warning to the Professor of Darkness."

"Yeah, he definitely heeded it." I said. "They're evacuating Sanctaphrax. Now we've just got to get to Anchor Chain Square…"

"Toss down a rope!" Twig shouted. "It'll be faster aboard the _Skyraider_."

I scanned the deck, found a rope, and threw it over the side. A few moments later, Twig and Cowlquape had climbed up onto the deck, gasping.

"Ironic, isn't it?" said Twig. "We're using Saint Dane's own sky ship to save the territory."

I didn't reply, instead resuming my post at the flight-rock platform. "Jervis, there's only a few minutes left before it all goes down. We've gotta get to Anchor Chain Square, and fast!"

"Right!" Jervis wheezed back, and the _Skyraider_ shot forwards. I quickly cooled the flight-rock again, and we cleared the tops of the buildings, heading straight for the place where all the academics were huddled together. Above us, the floating rock of Sanctaphrax was being battered violently by the storm. The rock twisted and bucked, spinning wildly in the gale-force winds. The sight of an entire city being spun around and around was enough to make me go weak-kneed. The palaces and institutions didn't look too good, either; lots of buildings seemed to have been torn to pieces by the violent weather.

"Stop!" I said. "We'll get out here! Teasel, can you watch the flight-rock?"

The mobgnome dashed forwards to take my place, as I shimmied down the still-dangling rope, Twig and Cowlquape close behind. The rain was pounding the rooftops furiously. The three of us fought our way through the swarm of frightened scholars to the center of the square, where the mooring block holding the great chain in place was situated.

The massive device was not going to be easy to break. The chain curved around a massive winch with a cogged axle, and the final link was secured onto a huge iron cotter-pin. This pin was what we would have to attack…if it was destroyed, the whole chain would unwind and separate from the mooring block. The question was, how to do it?

"A hammer, Cowlquape!" bellowed Twig. "I need a heavy hammer. For Sky's sake, find me one now."

Cowlquape vanished back into the crowd, just as they let out a great roaring cheer. We turned to see none other than the Professor of Darkness himself, descending from the final hanging-basket.

Suddenly, golf-ball-sized hail began plummeting out of the sky. Screams erupted as the academics dived for cover, punctuated by clanging and crashing as the hail tore through the roofs of nearby buildings. The Mother Storm was almost here. If we didn't unchain Sanctaphrax soon, the territory would be done.

In desperation, Twig jumped down to the ground and used his sword to pull out a slab of pavement from the street below. He then used the stone to bash the cotter-pin. It creaked and moved a few inches, then jammed. Twig grunted and bashed again, but nothing happened.

"Move, Sky curse you!" he bellowed. "Move!"

"Twig! What do you think you're doing?"

We both spun around to see the Professor of Darkness dashing towards the mooring-block, eyes wide. Uh-oh. That simple sentence told me all I needed to know. The academics were not intending to lose their floating city.

"Please, Professor," Twig said, screwing up his face with exertion, continuing to smash the cotter-pin with the rock. "There's no time to explain."

"Twig! No!" screamed the professor, clambering up beside us and seizing Twig's arm to stop him striking the pin again. "Have you taken leave of your senses? What has happened to you—you of all people—that you should attack the Anchor Chain?"

"All will be lost if I do not," Twig replied. "The Mother Storm is almost upon us! She will strike at midnight."

"But Twig, how can you say that?" cried the professor.

"I have remembered what I learned in open sky. What I had forgotten when you found me in the Stone Gardens," Twig said quickly, staring at the professor urgently. "If life on the Edge is to survive, then Sanctaphrax must be unchained! The Mother Storm must be allowed to pass on to Riverrise unimpeded."

"No!" the professor muttered, shaking his head violently, disbelievingly. "No." He was breathing harder now. "I agreed to the evacuation…I feared structural damage might lead to injuries, or even fatalities. But to unchain Sanctaphrax! No, it cannot be. I should have remained up there with the rest."

Uh-oh.

"The rest?" Twig repeated, looking suddenly panic stricken. We both looked up, and saw that there was a small crowd of figures gathered on a balcony, looking down at the swarms of academics below. "Tarp? Bogwitt…?"

"Oh, your crew are down, but several of the older academics refused to leave," replied the professor. "The Professor of Fogprobing, the Professors of Windtouchers and Cloudwatchers—even that upstart, the Professor of Psycho-Climatic Studies…Professors evidently more loyal to Sanctaphrax than myself," he finished, and then abruptly pushed Twig away from the mooring-platform. Twig wasn't expecting it and was knocked off his feet, falling from the mooring-platform and landing hard on the pavement.

He looked straight at me and said, "Please, Pendragon, I beg you to see reason. Sanctaphrax cannot be lost! We have achieved too much."

And in that instant, something changed inside me. A blinding realization nearly made me fall off the platform.

The academics—the people of Halla—couldn't abide the destruction of their city. They had made their choice. It was the wrong choice. I knew they were choosing to let their territory die. This was precisely the kind of short-sighted ignorance that Saint Dane was so contemptuous of. But I couldn't go against their wishes. I was a Traveler. And the Travelers fought for the right of every being of Halla to have freedom of will. If the people of First Edge wanted to choose a course of action that would lead to the destruction of their territory, then that was the way it was meant to be.

I slowly backed away, and stepped off the platform, staring at Twig. "I…I can't do this."

"What!" Twig shouted. "Have you lost your mind? If we don't release Sanctaphrax, the Edge is doomed!"

"But that's the decision of the academics," I said dully. "They chose their destiny, and it's not the right of the Travelers to interfere with it. All we can do is get out of here, and get to the flume. We'll go to Second Earth. The Edge territories may die, but we can't die along with them."

Suddenly, the bell of the Great Hall tolled, far above our heads in Sanctaphrax.

_Bong!_

"You see!" the professor shouted, lifting his gaze skywards and raising his hands in the air. "Midnight, and all is well."

I could think of a lot of phrases to describe the situation we were in. "All is well" was not one of them. But I didn't back down. "We must listen to him," I said, hanging my head, tears forming in my eyes. "We don't have a choice."

"Pendragon, no!" screamed Twig. "You can't do this! Don't hand this territory to Saint Dane!"

_Bong!_

The Mother Storm was almost directly overhead, spewing torrential rain and releasing brilliant tendrils of lightning.

"If we save this territory," I said miserably, "it will prove to Saint Dane that we are unsure of our philosophy. And I can't let that happen."

"No, it won't!" Twig cried. "He may consider it proof, but he'd be wrong! We aren't controlling the future of the Edge…we're saving it!"

I stood there, looking at Twig. I desperately wanted to believe his words. I wanted to unchain Sanctaphrax and save First Edge. But I truly didn't know what was right.

_Bong!_

And then, Cowlquape reappeared, clutching a tremendous hammer. "Twig! Pendragon! What's happened?"

_Bong!_

The lightning was tearing into everything, flooding the city with blue-white light, destroying buildings and shattering paving stones. People screamed and dived for cover.

Twig seemed unsteady…a lump was rising on his head from where he had landed earlier.

"Release the Anchor Chain, Cowlquape," croaked Twig weakly. "Before the bell tolls twelve."

"No…" I gasped. "We can't know the right decision."

_Bong!_

Cowlquape stared between us in confusion…then leaped for the platform, towards the Professor of Darkness, who was crouched over the cotter-pin, shielding it.

"Move!" he cried.

"You'll have to kill me first!" howled the professor.

_Bong!_

It was terrible to watch. What did Saint Dane want? Did he want First Edge to perish? Or did he want us to save it and prove a point? I couldn't see any way that the Travelers could walk away victorious…either way, the demon would win.

Cowlquape grabbed the professor's arm, wrenching it away from the cotter-pin.

"No, no!" cried the professor, wrenching his arm away. "If you think I'll allow centuries of knowledge to be lost, then…" his voice had risen to a high-pitched scream, "Then you're as mad as he is!"

_Bong!_

"Cowlquape, hurry!" moaned Twig, staggering unsteadily to his feet. "Hurry!"

The ground trembled under the force of the storm. The rumbles of thunder and the pounding of rain was deafening.

"No, Cowlquape," the professor begged. "I…I'll give you anything you want!" he screamed in desperation. "Name your price. Your own department. A professorship. Tell me, and it is yours—only don't release the Anchor Chain!"

_Bong!_

I could do nothing. I was powerless. Whatever I might do—stop Cowlquape, or help him—seemed like the wrong decision.

"Here," shouted the professor, wrenching the ornate amulet from around his neck and slinging it over Cowlquape's. "Take the great seal of Sanctaphrax. It's yours—only don't destroy our great city."

Cowlquape seized the professor's wrist and yanked him off the platform. He gave an anguished scream and sailed through the air, landing close to where Twig stood.

_Bong!_

Cowlquape now furiously attacked the cotter-pin with his hammer. The whole device trembled, flakes of rust flying off of it, clanking and squealing.

_Bong!_

The Mother Storm grew nearer, descending. The air reeked of sulfur and smoke, and a tremendous whirlwind spun Sanctaphrax violently in midair. Many of those remaining in Anchor Chain Square scattered in terror.

And then, the cotter-pin crumpled and snapped. The chain started to unwind from the mooring-block.

_Bong!_

"No!" the professor wailed querulously, leaping upright, hitching up his gowns, and tearing after the unraveling chain. "It cannot be!" he howled. "No!"

"Professor! Listen to me!" shouted Twig. But the professor was ignoring him. He took a great bounding leap and grasped the end of the Anchor Chain as it rose into the air.

"Professor!" bellowed Twig.

_Bong!_

The final toll of the bell rang out. Midnight had fallen, and the Mother Storm was fast heading for Sanctaphrax. But the city was floating upwards, gathering speed, and vanished as the purple, throbbing bank of storm clouds passed underneath it.

"Sky protect you, Professor," shouted Twig, his eyes fixed on the point where Sanctaphrax had vanished.

Cowlquape stepped down from the mooring-platform and reached out for Twig's shoulder.

"The Professor of Darkness was a good person, Cowlquape," Twig muttered sadly. "Dedicated, loyal…like those other misguided academics who refused to leave." He gave a heavy sigh. "They couldn't let go of their beloved Sanctaphrax."

Above us, the Mother Storm rumbled on, leaving Undertown, heading west towards Riverrise. As abruptly as it has hit, the catastrophic storm had left…on its way to rejuvenate the territory.

My head was spinning. I wasn't in a good place right now. For better or worse, we had saved First Edge. The territory would survive. But was the cost too great? In releasing Sanctaphrax, had the Travelers implicitly conceded that controlled destiny was sometimes necessary for the wellbeing of Halla?

If we had, then the Travelers may have already lost the war.


	41. Journal 42, Part 3: First Edge

JOURNAL #42  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

"There they are!"

"They cut the Anchor Chain!"

We abruptly wheeled around to be greeted with the sight of thousands of furious Sanctaphrax citizens—the professors, the apprentices, the Treasury Guard, the basket-pullers—bearing down on us. I didn't blame them…thanks to us, their home was gone.

"What do we do?" said Cowlquape, trembling with fear.

"Friends! Fellow academics! People of Undertown!" called Twig, raising his arms in the attempt to calm the incensed throng. "It is true, Cowlquape here released the Anchor Chain…"

The crowd started up a fresh wave of booing and hissing.

"But had he not done so," continued Twig in a louder voice, "the terrible storm you all witnessed overhead would have destroyed not only Sanctaphrax but also Undertown—and all life as we know it on the Edge."

"Says who?" roared a tall, wiry academic.

"Why should we believe you?" cried another.

Twig was dangerously close to losing control of the crowd. He had to come up with something really quickly, or there wouldn't be anything left of us to bury.

"Because I speak for your new Most High Academe!" he yelled.

That officially qualified as "something". The crowd stopped in its tracks, looking all sorts of confused.

"Yes, you heard me correctly; the Most High Academe!" Twig continued, pointing to the golden seal of office around Cowlquape's neck. "For that was the title conferred upon him by the old Most High Academe, as is his right, according to the ancient customs of our beloved Sanctaphrax."

"But…but…" Cowlquape stammered, going red.

"There _is_ no beloved Sanctaphrax!" bellowed another voice.

"Good thing, too!" butted in an Undertowner. "Lazy academics!"

"Undertown scum!" responded several voices.

The mob was degenerating as academics and Undertowners turned on each other. But in the next instant, they stopped dead. An eerie howling was arising from the Stone Gardens, and a flock of screeching white ravens was circling above Anchor Chain Square.

"_The chorus of the dead_," muttered the Undertowners, cringing with dread and retreating.

"The white ravens," the academics whispered, remaining where they stood.

The white ravens were settling all over the square, forming a ring around the three of us, snapping their beaks furiously and making the academics draw back a little.

A particularly huge one stepped forward. I immediately recognized it as the bird which had spoken with the Professor of Darkness back in the Stone Gardens.

"Kraan," Twig muttered. "Thank you for…"

"Lightning bolt hit Stone Gardens," croaked the bird suddenly. "Blue lightning bolt. You remember?"

"Y…yes. I do," Twig replied. I too remembered seeing the huge bolt strike, and the white ravens rising into the air a second later.

"There, a rock grows," Kraan said, nodding his beak. "Biggest ever. Growing fast. Fast and fast. Must secure it. Secure it now. Before fly-away."

Twig stared at Kraan, frowning. "You don't suppose…" he muttered, glancing at me and Cowlquape.

"You mean," Cowlquape began, "you think this rock might grow big enough to be…"

"A _new_ Sanctaphrax!" Twig cried jubilantly. "That's exactly what I think!" He waved vigorously at the academics, standing around, looking dumbstruck. "Quick! Go to the Stone Gardens, all of you! Take ropes, chains, netting, rigging, weights—anything you can lay your hands on. For the rock which is growing down at the Edge shall be your new floating city. Together you can build a new Sanctaphrax."

Nobody moved. Everyone gaped stupidly. I wasn't surprised…everything was happening so fast.

"Do as he says!" Cowlquape demanded, fingering his magnificent golden seal.

A few more seconds passed. Then, someone shouted "To the Stone Gardens!" The academics roared excitedly, and began tripping over each other, making a mad dash for the Stone Gardens to secure the expanding rock. I gazed in the direction of the Stone Gardens and saw it there, expanding rapidly, visible over the tops of the Undertown skyline.

In spite of all my doubts about whether the Travelers had done the right thing, I couldn't help but enjoy this. First Edge had been reborn. The loss of Sanctaphrax—and the promise of a new Sanctaphrax—seemed to have united everyone. And as the Most High Academe, I had no doubt Cowlquape could reform the academics. This was his specialty. He had great ideas for the future. I had to believe this new optimism would eventually spread to the farthest, wildest reaches of the Deepwoods, and with no help from the Travelers. The people of this territory had a fresh start.

"Ah, Cowlquape," Twig sighed. "How I envy you."

"You envy me?" Cowlquape muttered, surprised.

"Surely," Twig replied. "For you will be able to start afresh—to create the academic city the way it should always have been. Away from the pettiness, the backbiting, the whispered intrigue. For you are the bridge, Cowlquape, that will bring Undertown and the new Sanctaphrax together. No longer will merchants and academics look down on one another, for you have seen both sides, Cowlquape—and you have a good heart. Now you also have a new floating rock upon which to build your dreams."

"And what about you, Twig?" Cowlquape asked.

"Me?" Twig said. "I must be reunited with my crew—both here and back at Riverrise." He sighed heavily. "If only Spooler had not died…"

"Stay here!" Cowlquape insisted, seizing Twig's arms. "We'll build the new Sanctaphrax together. You and me…"

"My place is not here," Twig said, a finality in his voice that made it clear Cowlquape wasn't to press the matter. "It never was. My place is at the helm of a sky ship with my loyal crew by my side…and with Pendragon, fighting for Halla."

"But me?" Cowlquape protested, looking anxious. "What about me? I can't do it all on my own."

"Follow your heart, Cowlquape. Do that, and you won't go far wrong, believe me. Remember, just follow your heart. And I will follow mine. Just be sure to keep my journals safe whenever they might arrive. And as for you, Pendragon," he added, turning to me, "if ever I am needed on a troubled territory, I am at your service. Though it may be tough to reach me if I am sailing through the distant Deepwoods…"

"You won't be," I said. "The time between the territories isn't relative; the flumes always send us to whatever time we are needed. If I send for you, I guarantee you'll be within reach."

Twig smiled. "In that case, Pendragon," he said, "then my pledge of loyalty to the Travelers is unconditional."

By daybreak, the new Sanctaphrax rock was held securely in place by several nets and chains and weights. Man, it was enormous. It was at least as big as the original rock, and it wasn't quite done growing. This was a strange territory indeed; I wasn't sure I would ever quite understand the physics behind it all. But I could appreciate the new feeling of cooperation and excitement in the air.

The details of what happened for the next couple of hours were kind of dull…while Twig was off reconvening his crew, Cowlquape spent most of his time in meetings with various academics and leaguesmen, laying the foundations for the new city. The most interesting thing came a little later, when we arrived in a massive Undertown square, in the center of which was an elaborate, dry fountain.

As Cowlquape and I stepped out of the barrow we had been riding in, we strode over to the crowd. "What is it? What's happening?" Cowlquape asked them.

"_Sshhh_, Your Most Highness!" hissed a nearby gnokgoblin. "Listen!"

We paused, and then I heard it. A soft gurgling growing louder and louder.

"What…?" Cowlquape muttered.

Then, as the sun appeared over the horizon and shafts of dawn light hit the square…

_FWOOOSH!_

Water burst from the fountain. The jet must have reached fifty feet! After a few seconds, it calmed down, but it still sprayed everyone in the square.

"It's happened!" Cowlquape cried joyfully. "The Mother Storm has reached Riverrise. She has seeded it with new life. The waters of the Edgewater River are flowing once more. We are saved!"

The crowd went nuts. Everyone, venerable professors and lowly Undertown merchants, dashed forwards, cheering, hugging each other, splashing in the water, frolicking about.

"Long live the Edgewater River!"

"Long live Undertown!"

"Long live the new Sanctaphrax!"

The ground trembled as the cheer was repeated by everyone present. "LONG LIVE THE NEW SANCTAPHRAX!"

The sun shone warmly and brightly, flooding Undertown with a golden glow.

"Cowlquape!" shouted a new voice. "It is time!"

Cowlquape and I looked around, but couldn't see anyone.

"Cowlquape! Up here!" the voice said.

We looked up, to be greeted with the view of the _Skyraider_ sailing above Undertown. I could see Tarp, Sleet, and Bogwitt, along with Teasel, Jervis, Stile, and Grimlock. And at the helm, waving to us enthusiastically, was Twig.

"I found them waiting for me at the boom-docks!" Twig called down. "Now, I will return to Riverrise for the others—Sky willing! For Goom. For Woodfish. For Maugin…" A smile plucked at the corners of his mouth. "I came to say goodbye."

"So soon! You're going so soon, Twig?" Cowlquape cried out, sounding crestfallen.

"I must. But our paths will cross again. For now though, Cowlquape, your place is here."

The _Skyraider_ flew on at renewed speed as the sails flapped.

"Twig!" Cowlquape shouted.

"Fare you well, Cowlquape!"

The _Skyraider_ was now growing distant, headed out over the Mire. Cowlquape continued to stare after it.

"Farewell, Twig, my friend," he yelled. "And may Sky be with you, wherever you go!"

In that one instant, I was able to feel some actual triumph. Perhaps we had nudged the people of First Edge in the right direction, but it wasn't the kind of coercion Saint Dane used on a regular basis. We had saved the territory, so that its people might live free tomorrow. And I had to say, it looked as though they were making the most of their fresh opportunity.

I turned to smile at the sight of the new Sanctaphrax rock, on which even now small buildings were being constructed. It was a wonderful feeling.

It wouldn't last.


	42. Journal 42, Part 4: First Edge

JOURNAL #42  
>(Continued)<p>

FIRST EDGE

I was all set to leave this territory. The battle for First Edge was over. Saint Dane had surely departed to cause chaos somewhere else. But before I left, I had one final piece of work to do.

I began that day by paying a visit to the new floating rock. The previous day, Cowlquape had officially founded the city of New Sanctaphrax upon it, and he was currently overseeing the construction of a new Great Library, which would be all sleek and fancy and well-maintained.

I rode the hanging-basket and stepped out onto the bare surface of the rock. It would be a long time before the streets could be paved. A modest wooden structure had been built in the center of New Sanctaphrax, where Cowlquape was now living.

I knocked on the door, and entered. Cowlquape's face brightened when he saw me. "Pendragon!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here?"

"It's time for me to leave this territory," I said.

"Oh," he muttered. I could tell he wasn't happy about this; even though I wasn't actually playing a part in the proceedings, my departure would have an air of finality to him. It would mean he was officially on his own.

"You're sure you don't want to stick around any longer?" he said. "To see the revival of our world?"

"First Edge is safe." I said. "I'm no longer needed. Saint Dane will be going somewhere else and I need to follow him. But before I go, I need to show you the flume."

"The flume?" Cowlquape said, sounding a little eager.

"As an acolyte, one of your responsibilities is to help Travelers blend into the territory." I explained. "Which mostly means leaving a set of clothes near the flume whenever they're needed."

"All right," Cowlquape nodded, and we left.

Ten minutes later, we were standing over a hole in an Undertown street, staring at the rope dangling down into it.

"You ready for this?" I asked Cowlquape. He nodded bravely.

We slid down into the tunnels beneath the city. Finding the underground canal with the gate proved much easier than finding the way out, because we were able to follow our Traveler rings, seeking out places where they glowed more intensely. Soon, we reached the platform where I had tied the boat, overlooking the filthy canal. Cowlquape gagged emptily at the disgusting smell. I didn't blame him.

We paddled over to the mouth of the large pipe that I knew contained the flume. Remember how I worried about how I was going to get back into the pipe when I arrived on First Edge? Well, it turned out not to be a problem, because I spotted something I hadn't noticed before…a damp rope ladder hanging near the rim. Getting into the flume was awkward, but it was at least possible.

Finally, we stepped into the mouth of the endless tunnel, Cowlquape staring in amazement at the slate-gray rocks lining the walls. "So this is it," he breathed.

"Yeah." I said. "The flume."

"Where do I leave the clothes?" Cowlquape said.

"It's up to you, really," I said. "But it should be somewhere easy to see for any Traveler who steps out of the flume. And trust me, they'll want to find the change of clothes as quickly as possible."

"Where will you go now?" Cowlquape said.

"For the time being, Second Earth," I replied. "I may not know where Saint Dane is, but he'll let me know soon enough. And then…"

"Look!" Cowlquape cried suddenly, pointing directly into the depths of the flume.

I followed his gaze, and saw a faint glow in the distance. The flume was activating. Someone was coming. As the lights drew nearer and the walls turned to crystal, I saw the silhouette of a person stepping out of the flume. I didn't know who to expect. But the person standing in front of us was definitely _not_ one of my top guesses.

"You betrayed Sanctaphrax," said the Professor of Darkness, looking straight at Cowlquape. "You cheated. That great seal of office isn't rightfully yours!"

Cowlquape staggered backwards, eyes wide. This made absolutely no sense to him. Unfortunately, it did to me.

"As for you, Pendragon," said the professor, smirking, "I bet you're counting your lucky stars that you discovered the turning point in the nick of time, didn't you?"

"What…what is this? Professor?" Cowlquape spluttered.

"It's Saint Dane," I muttered to him. "There never was a Professor of Darkness. It was Saint Dane the whole time."

"Quite correct!" cackled the frail old figure before us. "Though the dear, late Professor of Light was quite real. We were childhood friends, you know. I've been playing around with this twisted little territory for longer than you can imagine! Mind you, in the beginning I didn't interfere with Sanctaphrax politics tremendously often. When I did, though, my labors tended to have spectacular results. The former Most High Academe, Vilnix Pompolnius? He was my protégé at a young age. If not for me, he'd still be a lowly knife-grinder in Undertown. His shortsighted double-dealings did a fine job of exacerbating the faction-fighting in that pathetic floating city!"

I was reeling in shock. Something else occurred to me.

"_You_ sent us on the voyage to rescue Twig's crew!" I cried. "You gave us the money and supplies, and the shooting star chart!"

Saint Dane laughed even harder. "My poor, dear boy, I did rather more than that!"

And with those words, he melted into liquid shadow and transformed. In a few seconds, he had reformed into a short, scaly, green individual with giant fluttering ears and quivering barbels.

"No way," I gasped. "You were Woodfish too?"

"I have particularly enjoyed taking advantage of the powers of a waif," Saint Dane said, grinning. "Being able to read thoughts is quite refreshing. I saw your mind, Pendragon…not that there was much to see. And I'll tell you something else, too…this isn't the only little surprise to be found in Twig's crew!"

The flume activated a second time. The walls turned clear, the light and musical notes blasted out, depositing a slender girl with red hair.

"Maugin?" I said in total shock. Now I really had no idea what was going on.

"Perhaps this will make things a little clearer," said Maugin…and she transformed, becoming a young woman with short brown hair.

I nearly fell over.

"Pendragon, who is that?" Cowlquape gasped.

"That's Nevva Winter," I replied quietly. "The fallen Traveler from Quillan." The true depths of Saint Dane's scheming and plotting on First Edge were starting to become clear to me.

Saint Dane transformed again, becoming his true self. Cowlquape, who had never seen Saint Dane in his actual form, stood rooted to the spot, rigid with terror. I wasn't feeling so hot either.

"I actually didn't take on this role until recently," said Nevva. "It was tough, but I think I managed it."

"You set this whole thing up," I said slowly. "Everything that happened to us on this territory—everything we did—was orchestrated."

"Exactly right!" said Saint Dane, applauding. "The whole thing fell into place just the way I wanted."

"But what was the point of all this?" squealed Cowlquape.

"The point was to prove to you that forced destiny has its place," said Nevva. "I think you knew that from the moment you discovered the turning point, Pendragon. If you had clung to your philosophy, all three Edge territories would have fallen."

"It's what I've been explaining to you all along," said Saint Dane. "This is not a battle for any individual territory. It's a battle of ideas. You had to break your own precious rules to save this world."

It was what I had dreaded all along. But somehow, listening to Saint Dane and Nevva say these things to me made me realize something else. Something that gave me confidence.

"No, I didn't," I said.

"I beg your pardon?" Saint Dane said.

"I didn't abandon my philosophy at all," I said, a touch of triumph in my voice. "I was just doing damage control for yours."

Saint Dane blinked, confused. I liked that. For once, he was the one who didn't understand what was happening. I pressed on.

"You said it yourself. You've had your hand in events on this territory for ages. You changed the playing field dramatically. And when it all came down to the wire, you were the one who was trying to stop us cutting the Anchor Chain. I wasn't fighting the academics' free will…I was fighting _your_ will."

I had expected—I had hoped—that Saint Dane would lose his cool at this. Instead, he clapped again, looking amused.

"Bravo, Pendragon," he said. "A fine argument. If only all of this had occurred to you last night, when you were standing in Anchor Chain Square, paralyzed with confusion, wondering whether you had to concede superiority to my views."

I stood stock-still, horrified. Saint Dane was right. The very fact that I had questioned my position, even for a second, couldn't be put right by any clever justification after the fact.

"Thinking like Saint Dane is nothing to be ashamed of," Nevva told me gently. "It means you're finally starting to see reason. It's a pity that you're only discovering this now, when it is much too late to enjoy the spoils of Saint Dane's victory. Make no mistake, he will rule Halla, and those who fought against him will regret it."

"I'm not thinking like Saint Dane!" I shouted in anger. "I'll never give up!"

"But why not?" said Saint Dane. "Our struggle is nearly over. Surely you can sense that. Better to admit defeat now than continue pursuing your hopeless campaign. It'll save you a lot more suffering. When Halla is mine, I want you to be there. I assure you, there will be no physical torture or brutality awaiting you and the other Travelers. Your crushing humiliation will be quite enough."

Saint Dane made to turn away, back towards the flume, but then froze, and looked back at me. "Oh, and one more thing," he added. "That bold little sky pirate Traveler is pursuing a hopeless goal. He will never reach Riverrise…and nor will he be much more use to you. I'll spare you the details, but you can find out more during our next battle."

With that, Saint Dane turned to face the endless tunnel and shouted, "_Second Edge!_" He and Nevva ran to meet the oncoming light of the flume, and disappeared in a brilliant flash.

Cowlquape lay down on the curved floor of the pipe, trembling. I laid a hand on his shoulder and said "You just got an up-close look at the kind of evil Saint Dane is capable of."

I knew Cowlquape was hurting at this last piece of news, and I was pretty upset about it too. Twig was out there aboard the _Skyraider_, blissfully unaware that our victory here was meaningless. Worse, he was completely cut off from the other Travelers. Cowlquape might receive his journals from time to time, but would have no ability to contact him…and neither would I.

"Don't worry," I told Cowlquape. "You played your part beautifully on First Edge. Twig, too. Saint Dane's goal was to shake our confidence. Maybe he did shake it a little. But I'm not backing down. I'm going to Second Edge to fight him there."

* * *

><p>As I finish this journal, I'm completely lost in thought. Saint Dane's plans for territories are getting more devious. It no longer seems to be about which way the turning point goes…it's more about how we react to the challenges in our way. I won't lie, this thought scares me. But what happened here on First Edge isn't going to be the end of it.<p>

Yes, Saint Dane did rattle me. But I don't think he rattled me as much as he expected to. Believe it or not, I'm starting to get what Uncle Press meant when he said Saint Dane wouldn't fail until he thinks he's won. As far as I can see, Saint Dane's greatest weakness—perhaps his _only_ weakness—is underestimating the Travelers. He may be winning the war, but he isn't making a dent in our resolve. One day, that might come back to bite him.

But until then, we'll continue the war as usual. We'll do all we can to stop him. And we're never going to surrender.

Hobey-ho, let's go.

END OF JOURNAL #42


	43. Third Earth, Part 4

**~ THIRD EARTH ~**

"Well, that's it, I guess," said Mark. "First Edge was saved."

"But at what cost?" said Courtney. "Saint Dane playing with Bobby yet again?"

"That's immaterial now," said Press. "The Travelers won, and their philosophy triumphed. But the Edge was far from safe, of course."

"Um, wasn't it?" said Mark.

"_First_ Edge, maybe," said Press. "Don't forget, the Edge had three turning points, just like Earth. The battle moved to Second Edge."

"Oh, no," said Mark. "I don't know how much more of this scavenger hunt I can take."

"Well, you'll be happy to know you're getting a break," said Press. "I don't know where the journals from Second Edge are. I'll have to do some searching…if necessary, I'll ask Bobby himself. In the meantime, I'd advise you to continue your noble quest of rebuilding Earth."

"But…" said Courtney, still full of questions.

She didn't get the chance. Press had taken a step, and vanished.

Frustrated, Courtney gazed back at the barkscrolls in her hand. "So that's it? The mission is over?"

"For now," said Mark. "Come on, we should get back to the conclave."

The two friends left the zoo and set off down the streets of New York City, their minds buzzing with the adventure they had just had, with the adventure they had read about…and the adventures still to come.

_To Be Continued_


End file.
